


In between the lines

by moonmagnet



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, PEENISS, everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-06 08:44:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 51,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonmagnet/pseuds/moonmagnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My reading in between the lines of the last pages of Mockingjay. Excerpts from the book included in italics - credit to Suzanne Collins. More chapters to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_In the morning, he sits stoically as I clean the cuts, but digging the thorn from his paw brings on a round of those kitten mews._

He must hate me even more when I do this. But I'm all he's got. And he's all I got too. My thoughts wander towards Peeta. Sure he is back. But I don't have him anymore. He's scarred and hurt because of me. So he's not mine to have. I take the last thorn from Buttercup's leg and we just stare at each other. The realization that we are alone sinks in. Alone and defeated. Prim, the one person I'm sure I love. Prim, the one reason I volunteered for the Games. Prim, my sister, is gone. I will never hug her again. I will never braid her hair again. I will never tell her to tuck in her duck tail again. I will never have to put her life before mine again. Buttercup curls up next to me and I rest my head on a pillow.

_We both end up crying again, only this time we comfort each other. On the strength of this, I open the letter Haymitch gave me from my mother, dial the phone number, and weep with her as well._

I wish I could hug her. I was always so preoccupied with surviving and keeping Prim alive that I never realized how much I needed my mother. With Prim gone, I probably need her more now than ever. I find the strength to apologize to her for all the years in which I resented her for leaving us to care for ourselves. I finally understand how she felt, how hopeless she was. We say our goodbyes and she wishes that I get better soon. That if I progress enough under Dr. Aurelius' care they might let me travel to visit her. I tell her it could be possible, although I doubt I'll ever be allowed to leave District 12. And even if I am, I'm not sure I want to.

My stomach is growling and I sit and hope Greasy Sae is still in charge of making sure I am fed. If not I'll have to get food myself, and I don't feel like it. It's a strange thought from a hunter, but I am not sure whether I feel more like a hunter or the prey right now. Thankfully, I don't have to wait long and I hear the door open.

_Peeta, bearing a warm loaf of bread, shows up with Greasy Sae. She makes us breakfast and I feed all my bacon to Buttercup._

He doesn't deserve it for the attitude he's given me over the years. But he was Prim's and I must take good care of the only living thing she's left me. The thought of her sends me into a daze. I finish my eggs, not because I have an appetite but because Greasy Sae would not let me be otherwise, and find my way back to the sofa. My last attempt at hunting was a big failure filled with a mix of sickness and nostalgia, so I don't try hunting again. Not for now, anyway. I also avoid my bedroom as much as I can. Burning the rose may have helped to erase the last trace of Snow in my house, but I swear I can still smell it when the day is calm enough. Peeta is the only reason I found my bed last night. But he didn't stay nor did I expect him to stay. We're broken and being together can only make us worse. So Buttercup spent the night with me instead. While he can't ward off my nightmares like Peeta could, I know he'll keep guard on me during my worst nights. It's what he would do for Prim.

I am tempted to turn on the tv. My mother said they would be showing District 4 on a special about the rebuilding of Panem and that she might be interviewed alongside the group of doctors working on the new hospital. I change my mind when I realize seeing my mother's complexion and her blonde hair will only make me think of Prim and the aching will consume my day. I decide for a walk, though there isn't much to see in town yet but ashes. Maybe I should check on Haymitch, make sure he's not lying in a pile of his own vomit somewhere. I grab my boots in the kitchen and notice Peeta is washing my dishes. If that's a hint that I'm letting my house fall apart with me, I pretend I don't see it.

It's drizzling and the touch of each drop on my skin is refreshing. It turns to rain when I am almost at Haymitch's doorsteps but I just stop and let it soak me. I don't know if I hope the rain will wash these scars away, but I stand there for at least five minutes with my eyes closed. Haymitch yanks the door open. "What the hell are you doing, sweeheart? You'll get pneumonia," he says while he puts a clean towel around my shoulders and ushers me inside. I don't know why but I am overcome by shock when I notice the towel not only is clean but smells nice. Actually, the whole place smells nice. I squint thinking I'll find vomit in the corner or liquor spilled on the table but I don't see anything familiar. "Haymitch, have you been cleaning?" I blurt out in disbelief.

"Your boyfriend seems to think I care what this place looks like." He grabs a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a glass. I'm about to protest that Peeta is not my boyfriend when I register a pattern.

"He's cleaning over at my house too. Isn't that strange?" I ask him.

"Must be part of his therapy or whatever, to become some sort of housewife. But maybe if you keep your place messy enough he'll lay off my business. So why don't you work on that, Mockingjay?" He gulps the rest of the liquor and pours some more. He must not be in a mood for chatting and neither am I. The only reason I'm here is because I had to get out of the house. So I just sit in the kitchen watching the heavy rain outside while Haymitch is occupied with soaking his own feelings with alcohol. It must be late afternoon when the rain stops because I can finally see the sun setting in the horizon.  _Muted like sunset_ , I think. Peeta's favourite colour. I wonder if he's stopped to appreciate it since the hijacking, and I scramble to find a different thought when I reckon the answer must be no. Because the old Peeta is gone, so it must not matter that I told him orange was his favourite. Because the new Peeta can prefer whichever colour he fancies.

Haymitch is passed out, knife in his hand as always. I think he'll never lose this habit. My stomach is growling so I decide to go home. I wonder if I should make sure that Haymitch eats, but waking him up from his drunken state is too much of a chore. He'll just scowl and fall back asleep. I make my way towards home, watching the grass. I feel the need to avoid that sunset with all my being. But in my effort to avoid one thing that makes me think of Peeta, I find another. The first dandelion of the spring. Bright yellow and soaked in all its glory. I take it from the ground and twirl it in my fingers. I like green because of the woods. But now I wonder if the new Katniss, the fallen Mockingjay with melted skin, prefers bright yellow more than anything. I walk to Peeta's house and smell the bread. I really am hungry, but it's not the reason I am here. He must have seen me from the window because before I knock, Peeta opens the door. I am a bit startled, as I seem to suddenly forget why I came. He frowns, probably wondering the same thing. That's when I hand him the dandelion and run away.

I shut the door behind me and run up the stairs. I wonder what Peeta will make out of what I just did. He probably doesn't even know why I had picked a dandelion off the grass. He'll think its a peace offering, that we should be friends. Truth is I don't know why I did it. We shouldn't be friends. All I ever did was lie to him, fool him, hurt him. Perhaps I am being unfair to myself. I did do everything I could to protecting him.  _Then I failed_ , I realize. No. I hope he doesn't read anything into it. I like his company, but I don't deserve him. Haymitch said so. I decide to head back downstairs and make a fire in the living room and cover myself with a blanket. Although they warm me up, the embers take me back to the City Circle. And suddenly Prim is on fire. I want to put it out but I am burning too. My skin is melting. These scars are proof. I am screaming but no one can hear me. At least I thought no one could. Peeta runs from the door into the sofa and holds me tight.

"It's ok, Katniss. It's ok. It's over now," he says looking straight into my eyes. It calms me as his blue eyes pierce through my soul. I wonder why he's here. Maybe to ask me about my strange behaviour minutes ago. But he doesn't say anything else. He just holds me until I fall asleep. When I wake up he's not there anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sleeping on the sofa hurts my back, so I look for Buttercup and carry him upstairs with me. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd actually want the company of this irritating ball of fur, I would have laughed. But, his presence fools me into believing Prim will be back for him at anytime. After tossing and turning, I give in to the fact I am wide-awake. I am restless and fighting hard to keep my thoughts away from Prim; but I'm weak and give in to her absence. I am crying and minutes later I am sobbing. When I run out of tears, anger sets in. Snow. Coin. They took away everything I had. No sister. No best friend. No mother to nurse me back to sleep. I think of Peeta for a second and my mind travels to another tough night of sleep months ago, when 13 was being attacked by the Capitol. That night Peeta paid the price for announcing our imminent attack on live television, therefore keeping us all alive. And I'm not even sure he remembers that, because Snow took him away too. All that's left is me and this crazy cat.

The thought of this sends me looking for a flashlight, which I find in a box hidden in the back of my closet. I taunt Buttercup with it until it's obvious he's too tired to keep pursuing the light. I look through the box and find useless things. Some loose buttons, a cushion of needles, a spare toothbrush, and a stained shoelace. I pick up the shoelace and treat it like it's an old gift from Finnick and I tie a knot only to untie it the next second. I do this repeatedly and I do feel as if I've returned to the night of the missiles. Except, I don't have to return my string to Finnick, because he's gone too. My stomach sinks at the memory of his and Annie's wedding, and their 'soon to be born' child, who will never know their father. It could have easily been me. If the Quell didn't reap us, I was sure Snow would have forced me to marry Peeta and have his child only to watch either die as punishment for my rebellious act. Or maybe both, since there was no limit to what Snow would do ensure his power. If only I had been sure Coin was just the same as him in time to save Prim. It is painful how every memory sends me back to her. I push it away once more and try to think of times when I thought I was happy. Hunting with Gale in the woods, learning to swim at the hands of my father, nursing Prim to sleep with a song.

"Damn it," I say it out loud in frustration.

It's enough for Buttercup to wake up and hiss at me before hiding under the bed. The sun will be up soon and I am exhausted. I am finally asleep when I realize I'll have to learn to get out of the house more often. I reckon the reason I feel so miserable at home is because it was Prim's home too.

_Slowly, with many lost days, I come back to life._

I dress in my father's hunting jacket and walk outside. I hear the cicadas far away and hope their buzzing is announcing a warmer day is ahead. I find a tree and sit under its branches to rest my head. I see the geese in v formation and welcome them back with a smile; spring must really be here. I wonder if Haymitch really will take up the chore of raising them. I thought he was joking, but he seemed very serious about it after Plutarch asked him if he'd like to mentor some aspiring singers for his new tv show. I shake it off when I think that if Haymitch starts raising geese, there is no doubt Peeta or I will be stuck taking care of them. Or maybe not. If there is one thing the rebellion showed me is that Haymitch is a little box of surprises. Between having to mentor two fallen victors like me and Peeta or geese, I'd choose geese too.

I wonder what day it is. I stopped keeping track so long ago but if the weather tells me something, it must be the end of April. About six years ago I was so anxious for April to be gone so I could sign up for tessarae. I wonder if the generations to come will even know what it means. I hope not. Despite my own reasons for shooting Coin, I know we won't have to go through misery and oppression again, at least not anytime soon. Paylor was the one who gave me permission to see Snow at the mansion. She allowed me in so I could see with my own eyes that getting rid of Snow alone would not be enough. I guess to this point, I trust her. Though I'm not sure I should trust anyone anymore.

From where I'm sitting I can see Peeta is up and baking again. The lights are on and the smell from the wood oven can easily reach me. I have no idea how, but he seems to be doing fine, more than fine actually. He seems to be healing. I can't be sure, though, since our exchanges have been only cordial over bread at breakfast. If anything, he screams at night just like I do, gasping for air and afraid of opening our eyes just in case the nightmare is real.

If that  _is_  the case, why hasn't he come to confide in me? Why is he behaving like Greasy Sae's little helper instead of my friend? I shrug. I know the answer and I just don't want to accept it. In the end, I screwed everything up. I not only lost Gale, but Peeta will never look at me the same again. He's probably just being nice to me because of Dr. Aurelius, and because, as much as they tried, the Capitol did not succeed in erasing all the kindness in his character.

I decide to go to the woods and pick some berries. I'd rather not hunt as the weight of my bow on my shoulders reminds me of war right now. The time the crazy girl shot the wrong president for killing her sister. I make it to the meadow and see Thom and a couple of other men rebuilding the Seam. It was much easier to clean up the rubble of our unstable shacks here than in town, so no wonder they can rebuild sooner. Thom gestures at the woods, asking if it's my destination today. I nod and realize he's probably thinking whether he'll have to carry me back home today once more. Although the primroses Peeta had planted made me feel somewhat renewed, it wasn't enough to prepare me for facing burnt bodies and the memories of Gale I keep beyond the fence. Just in case, I don't go that far in.

I'm surprised to find some blueberries this early in the season, enough to make a pie. I think Peeta would like that. I also find some strawberries but decide to eat them myself. They're so sweet and juicy I don't need anything else for breakfast. No wonder the Mayor loved them so much. Maybe he's out here in the woods with Madge looking for strawberries too. I don't care what Thom said he found. I refuse to believe they did not escape. Sweet Madge, who had been my friend all along, who gave me my Mockingjay pin, had to have escaped. I realize, this is the only way I am able to deal with my memories without breaking down, by focusing on the best from each person when they were alive and making them immortal in my head.

I don't stay too long out here. I'm supposed to call Dr. Aurelius today for a session, although I have nothing to say. I wonder if we'll do the same by phone as we did in person and sit quietly on the line while he takes a nap. On second thought, we probably can't get away with that anymore. In the Capitol, when he accepted my silence, I ended up assassinating the new president of Panem.

I drop a handful of chives off at Greasy Sae's and tell her she doesn't need to visit today. She frowns and sizes me up before agreeing to a day off. I want to give Peeta the berries but I don't feel like talking to him right now. To be honest, I don't know what to say and am a bit embarrassed about the odd dandelion episode weeks ago. He didn't bring it up the times he showed up for breakfast and I'd like to keep it that way. So I leave the bag of blueberries on the floor and knock on his front door before running as fast as I can into my house. I lock the door just in case he follows me. I'm right to do it, because in a minute I hear Peeta knocking frantically.

"Katniss, open up! This is ridiculous!" I pretend I don't hear him.  _Doesn't he know we can't be around each other?_  "Katniss, I have a spare key. Don't make me use it!"

I'm angry. "What do you mean you have a spare key?" I say as I unlock the door. He looks relieved.

"I don't know. I don't remember well, but I think your mother gave it to me once. You were sick and I brought you bread a lot," he says scratching his temple.

"You brought me cheese buns," I reply while trying to hide the smirk that invades my face.

"Yes, I thought so. I ordered cheese the other day, maybe I can make some when it arrives?" He sounds hopeful, but I don't know why he's doing this. He should hate me. Why doesn't he?

"Look, Peeta, you don't need to do this. Bring me bread, check up on me, pretend you're my friend. I know Dr. Aurelius put you up to this, but I'm telling him today it's not necessary. I can do this on my own." I'm lying. I need something to hang on to if I'll make through this.

"Katniss, I'm not pretending. I thought we were friends. Isn't that what we do? We take care of each other. Or why else would you bring me blueberries?" he says while he grabs a chair and sits his elbows on the kitchen table. He looks exhausted and I recognize the dark shade around his eyes because I'm wearing it too. The nights are tough for the both of us.

"I'm sorry. I thought you would like to make a pie." I give in and sit down too. My short trip to the woods has drained me of all my energy.

"I... I don't remember how. I remember bread and frosting. That's all. The only cake recipe I know is the one I used for Finnick's wedding cake. Everything else is lost."

This is killing him and I realize how selfish I can be. Peeta lost a lot more than I did and now even his baking has been compromised. His recipes were all his family left him and he doesn't have that anymore. In the beginning, I thought the Capitol wanted to destroy every memory he had of me, but it became obvious the hijacking was also intended to destroy every memory he had of himself. I stop feeling sorry for him when I remember.

"Peeta, the book."

"What book?" he asks me with a puzzled look.

"When you helped me work on my family's plant book you told me your father used to do the same, but for baking."

"Yes, Katniss. Every baker has a recipe book, even my father could not store every ingredient in his mind. But it probably burnt down when, you know..."

He's holding on to the table and there's pain in his eyes. It's my fault for bringing this up but at least I think I know how fix it. I take his right hand and walk him outside towards his house. I'm not even sure I'll find it but if there's a chance it will help Peeta's memory, I should try to. The place is spotless and so organized I feel sorry for the mess I'm about to make. I open all of the kitchen cupboards but there's nothing except for dishes, pots, and a few supplies. It isn't in his study either. The room is an exact replica of mine and it looks like it has never been touched. I turn on my heel to go upstairs but Peeta doesn't move.

"Come on," I wave him up. He still doesn't budge.

"What are you doing, Katniss? Except for making a mess of course," he says and crosses his arms at me.

"Just help me find it, will you?" My first instinct is to go to his bedroom, but I'm embarrassed to do it. I continue in the hallway and turn to the room on the left. I turn the handle to open it and Peeta jumps in front of me.

"I don't want you in there." He looks nervous and pale.

"Why?" I ask.

"Just... just whatever you're looking for it's not there," he insists.

Peeta used to be so open and honest with me I am surprised by his refusal to let me in. I need to know the reason. "Peeta, what's in there?"

"Memories which I haven't been able to deal with myself. Dr. Aurelius told me to ease in to it."

I consider what he said and realize what's behind the door. If it's memories then it's exactly where I have to go. I knock his hand off the handle and push through. The room is covered with canvases of all sizes, some are empty but most are paintings of a series of Peeta's life events. He took his talent a lot more seriously than I did during the Victory Tour, so it's no wonder there are so many. I walk closer to the ones I recognize the most, little scenes from the cave from our first games. I remember avoiding them a year ago, but I cherish them now I almost want to hang them on the walls. Snapshots of a time when we had no idea what our actions could amount to. These are little bits of his memories brought into life by Peeta himself. They're so precious I have a bizarre feeling of gratitude towards the Capitol for not bombing our houses. I look behind me and find Peeta still standing at the door, looking away. I don't care what Dr. Aurelius said, this is important and he has to see it. I take his hand and lead him in.

"Look Peeta, this is me washing your clothes after I found you. Do you remember that?" He looks up for a second, and then turns away again.

"Are they all real?" he asks.

"Yes. They're all pre-hijacking. Though I'm sure the mist around me in this one was a result of fever and blood poisoning." That one painting is still the hardest to place.

"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," he says with a smirk.

I smile back when I see how helpful this can be. The vision in the paintings is something no one can take away from Peeta. This reminds me of why I came over here and I look around the room in search of parchment. I move an empty canvas around and find it on the floor. It looks unfinished, but it's exactly what I thought I would find. I grab it and take it over to him.

"Here, take a look. You once told me over cheese buns you'd like to make your own version of my family book. Not just recipes like your father's, but with sketches so they'd be easier to remember," I say.

The light in his eyes tells me he remembers. There's a sketch of a wedding cake with at least half a dozen recipes carefully printed in Peeta's handwriting. The next page displays a recipe for peanut butter cookies, chocolate cupcakes, and raisin scones. There's a whole section just for buns. Rosemary, bacon, onion, and, of course, cheese. With each page Peeta's smile grows wider. By the time he finds the ingredient list for a blueberry pie, he's laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He gives me a peck on the cheek. It sends chills down my spine and I can tell I'm blushing. This is his first real display of affection for me since I can remember. It almost feels like he's come back to me, though I know he'll never be the old Peeta again. I reckon that holding me through my nightmares a couple times since his return is just an old habit, but this is something new. He's glowing and I follow him with my eyes as he leaves the room with his newfound recipe book.

I sit on the floor contemplating the paintings one more time, truly thankful they're here. Peeta's own talent will be the key to his recovery, I am sure of it. I get myself over to the kitchen where Peeta is setting up for baking.

He carefully rinses and removes the stems from the blueberries and sits them on a large bowl that is already filled with a light brown concoction. It's mix of sugar and cinnamon, I can tell by the smell. Then he moves on to the crust. He carefully works a crumbly mixture into a disc of dough. I've seen him bake multiple times without ever truly paying attention to how magical it is. While his eyes display the focus he tends to show when he's painting, his hands are more relaxed and comfortable, as if he could easily do this without thinking. I could sit here all day if it wasn't for my appointment with Dr. Aurelius. I ask Peeta if I could use the phone in his study and he nods.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Mellark. I wasn't expecting your call today." I think Dr. Aurelius must have one of those caller identification systems.

"No, Dr. Aurelius. It's Katniss here. This is just Peeta's phone," I explain.

"Well, Miss Everdeen. Nice to hear from you. What's wrong with your phone?" I want to tell him nothing, but I mumble that the line's been mute and he tells me he'll see if someone can fix it. I don't know why I have the impression he doesn't want me spending time at Peeta's.

"So how have you been?" he continues.

"Ok." I really don't know what else to add. It's not like I was ever talkative around him. It's not like I was ever talkative, period.

"I'll need more than that if I'll be able to help you. Have you been hunting?" he asks.

"Not really. I picked some berries and herbs today though."

"That's good. It's a beginning. It's important for you to try to get back into your old habits. They'll regain meaning little by little. Anything else you'd like to tell me?" I suspect he does want to know what I'm doing at Peeta's. I feel somewhat guilty for ignoring his instructions and leading Peeta straight to the paintings this morning, though I don't regret doing it.

"Peeta found an old recipe book so he's baking a pie with the blueberries I picked."

"Good. Any, hm... confrontational situations?" Does he think Peeta still has some anger stored in him? I wonder why he would let Peeta come back if he believes he could be violent again.

"No. He looks very recovered to me. Well, except for his memories."

"Those will take time. Some will never return. He's a breakthrough example of recovery, but both the hijacking and the treatment for it have been tough on his brain."

"He'll never be one hundred percent back to his old self," I think out loud.

"I'm afraid not, Miss Everdeen. I believe he will be fine, even though he might not be exactly how you remember him. Just the fact that he's not filled with hatred and anger anymore, that's certainly something to celebrate." He sounds pleased with himself and goes on after a small pause. "Still, no other incidents?"

How stupid of me. I'm the one with murderous tendencies here, not Peeta. I tell him not to worry since I feel I can't even shoot a squirrel anymore. At least for the time being. He sounds relieved and moves on to a few questions about my routine. He seems to know more than what I tell him. I suppose he's the one Greasy Sae reports to. He finally dismisses me and asks me to remind Peeta of his own appointment in two days. What a pair of damaged goods we are.

Peeta has just put the pie in the oven when I return to the kitchen. He's adding notes to the book and doesn't notice my presence. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Just some tweaking. I added some lemon zest but I would like to try it with some mint next time as well."

"I can arrange that."

Gather mint for Peeta. I can handle that. One motion at a time. Peeta scribbles something else on the book and puts it aside. I can tell by the timer we have to wait about fifty more minutes for the pie. I have no idea what to do with the time, so I just sit there waiting for Peeta to break the silence. He doesn't. He just stares at me instead, making me very uncomfortable. Finally, I blurt out.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking at you," he replies matter-of-factly.

It irritates me and I almost feel like leaving. His gaze still has the effect of making me defensive and I don't know why. He must notice this because he grabs a chair between the door and me.

"I'm just going over what I remember about you; at least, what I'm sure I remember." His voice sounds defeated.

I think back to what Dr. Aurelius said. They have been tough on his brain. I guess forgetting recipes is the least of Peeta's worries. He seems so much healthier and in control than me, though he could be fighting demons bigger than my own.

"Peeta, what happened after I shot Coin? What happened to you?"

"I was taken to the emergency room to get bandages on my hand. I had no idea your teeth were that sharp," he grins at me.

I look over to his hand and see no other scars in addition to his burn marks. At least I didn't make it worse. This is the first time I think about how Peeta saved my life once more, risking an injury to keep the nightlock pill away from me. I don't remember exactly how much time went by between the explosion and Snow's execution day, but I know something happened to Peeta in the burn unit. If not, how can I explain him going from begging me for a violet pill before the City Circle to stopping me from using the same method to escape?

"Why did you do it, Peeta?"

"Jumped in front of you? It's funny because I wasn't even sure your Mockingjay suit hid a pill as well. But in case it did, I wasn't going to let you take it."

"Why not? I gave you one," I ask him.

"Only because I begged you and because you knew that, in the state I was in, it was probably better if I died anyway."

"No, it wasn't."

I think back to how I considered killing Peeta multiple times on that mission. Sometimes at his request, sometimes because of what he represented. I'm so tired, Katniss. These words from Peeta still ring in my head, how helpless he was. I can't believe I almost gave in. I pause and examine what my life would be if I had taken his. I wouldn't be here, that's certain. I would have swallowed that pill and accepted death as my fate. And even in a scenario where I was still alive, life without Peeta, wouldn't be life at all. Both Prim and Peeta dead, the two people I vowed to protect, would have been also the death of me.

"If you say so," he continues without a second thought.

He tells me the explosion acted as some sort of trigger to his old mind. The doctors decided one traumatic event helped to override the other, even if not completely. The fact that he had already made a lot of progress, when treated in 13, was also helpful. Although he had several episodes in the burn unit and had to be sedated a couple of times, he never once felt conflicted about his intentions again. Dr. Aurelius had him tested and concluded Peeta no longer represented an imminent threat to himself, or even me. Peeta looks relieved when he tells me this, so I don't mention that the good doctor is not quite sure whether I'm the one who represents a threat right now.

"I'm sorry, Katniss." His hands are on his face and I'm afraid he'll hyperventilate if he breathes any faster.

I take one of his hands and hold it until he calms down. The truth is I don't know what he's sorry for. I should say something, but I'm still no good with words. Instead I wait for him to come back to me and continue what he was saying.

"I don't remember everything we had, but I'd like to try to remember. And maybe we can both forget that I almost choked you to death," he almost stutters this last sentence.

"It wasn't you," I say. "I think you should know that I don't blame you, Peeta. The truth is I never did. And I'm sorry too, for giving up on you. For the times I accepted you'd never be back to normal. That you'd never be back to me."

My confession is painful, but I owe it to him. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never stop owing him. Yet, my words make me uncomfortable so I clear my throat and look away to the oven. "So how about that pie? It should be ready by now."

Peeta chuckles. "You're still a piece of work, aren't you?" he says and then checks on the pie.

Unlike the last time he said something similar, there is no harshness in his voice. I don't know if it's our honest exchange or the pie he brings to the table that makes me warm inside. No matter the reason, I accept it as today's own little victory.

_I try to follow Dr. Aurelius's advice, just going through the motions, amazed when one finally has meaning again._

I realize sharing a pie with Peeta, while he talks about baking and painting, means more than anything else in the world to me at this moment. It means there is a chance we might be normal again. I am not yet convinced of it nor am I sure things could be exactly like before. The doctor did say he'll never be the same, so most likely not. Every other sentence coming out of Peeta's mouth used to be an indication of his undying love for me. Since I don't see that happening ever again, I make peace with the suggestion that we could become real friends. And in the midst of my grief and despair, having a friend wouldn't be that bad.

We share some hot chocolate by the fire and talk about things we never talked about before. The real beginning to the story of how I got Prim's goat, the day he gave Delly a cupcake under the counter and his mother grounded him for a month, the first time I ever used a bow. He tells me of his first kiss and how he shared it with a girl after school wishing it had been with me. I can't tell if I'm jealous, but I gulp back my wish that it had been with me too. It feels liberating to talk about all of these memories, even though Peeta doesn't have as many to tell me as before, with a new sense of honesty that comes with Snow's death and the end of the games. We don't need to be afraid to share anymore. I have no reason to pretend to care anymore. And there's absolutely no pretending in what I feel towards Peeta right now. It is almost painful when the clock hits 1am and he walks me back to my house. Painful because I wish he stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ok, so this was a more everlark-centric chapter. I'm planning to branch out a bit more in the next couple of chapters though. Hope you enjoyed it and please review if you can.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I wake up feeling normal. It's an odd feeling, one I haven't felt for a long time. All I know is that I am not Katniss the girl on fire, not Katniss the victor, not Katniss the Mockingjay. I am just me and it's refreshing. I suppose the last few days of having Peeta as a friend again has something to do with it. We don't do much together except eat a meal or two and I don't want to over-think it. I told myself I would take one day at a time, and that's all I'm doing to keep my tears away.

I soak in the tub and wash my hair. It's growing back again and even the biggest bald spot is not visible anymore. I dry it with a towel and braid it to my side. I put on some pants and a loose shirt. The day is a tad too warm for my father's hunting jacket. I still put on my boots and wash my face one more time before I look in the mirror. Not only do I feel normal, I'm also starting to look normal again. I see my bow and quiver in the corner of the kitchen and take them. They're exactly what I need if I'll be able to maintain this feeling of normalcy. I just have to keep trying.

It's still early and the town is quiet. Although very few people are back, the noise of demolishing and rebuilding is easily recognizable during the day. I walk through the meadow and slip under the fence. If they ever tear it down, it will be so strange, so open. I make it to the woods and breathe in the fresh air as if it's my first breath of the day. One of the reasons I've had trouble coming back to the woods is Gale's absence. I can still see one of his snares in the distance, but it's long been deactivated. I walk to our meeting place, though I don't stay there for long. I am afraid of facing any feelings that this place might incite. So I walk back into the woods. Together with the Victor's Village, this is the only part of my past that hasn't changed a bit. The trees still stand tall, hovering over me, and I can hear the mockingjays whistling an old tune. I just listen to them for a while and absorb myself in their music. It takes me back to my father and his never-ending singing. His beautiful voice echoes through my ears as if he was by my side. It hits me. I have no reason to fear Gale's absence. Before I ever shared the woods with the boy who would become my best friend, I shared it with my father. This was my father's place,  _our_  place.

I don't plan on killing any creatures today. I'm not going to become a vegetarian or anything like that, but I can't help the feeling that I'm responsible for the loss of so many lives in the past recent months. I'm not about to take one more, even if it's for food. Greasy Sae must be disappointed with the lack of game; I know she misses some rabbit or wild turkey. She'll just have to be patient. I think part of me is afraid of hunting again. I felt so sick the first time I came to the woods since my return that I try to avoid that feeling at all costs. Although this is my favourite place, it's strange to hunt when I'm no longer needed to keep others fed. This is new Panem and no one goes to bed hungry at night anymore. At least when I hunted during the rebellion, I had my hunting partner next to me. Now it's different, I'm alone in the woods like when my father died. I have to take it all in one more time. Learn to shoot my bow and arrow again for love, not for survival.

I walk deeper into the woods, watching my back in case a pack of wild dogs decides to chase me again. I haven't been this far in so long, but I know it's here. In about five minutes I find what I was looking for. My first practicing targets. They're a little old and not as evident as before, though it's clear my father did an excellent job carving them on the tree trunks. I take my bow and shoot my first arrow at the nearest target. Bull's-eye. Even though I'm rusty, that was too easy, so I try the farthest ones. I am shooting for almost an hour until my arms begin to hurt. I find some berries and eat them by a rock. Slowly the mockingjays make their way to my resting spot. I wonder if they know we're the same. That just like them, I was able to defy the Capitol by simply existing, by my refusal to die in the first games. I breathe deeply again and whistle a familiar tune. A four-note tune. Rue's tune. After a brief moment of silence, the tune surrounds me while it travels through the forest. I'm smiling. The woods have a meaning again.

I pack my bow and quiver on my shoulder and look for herbs. I gather some mint, but am careful not to damage the roots. I do the same when I find some wild thyme, parsley, and sage. I see a few other herbs that look familiar, but without my family's plant book I'm not sure what they are. I pack them separately in my hunting bag so I can verify it later. On my way back, I drop some rhubarb I found with Greasy Sae and borrow her gardening tools. I know she likes adding rhubarb to her rabbit stew, though only after I leave I realize I should have provided the rabbit too. But not yet, anyway. For now she can probably import some meat from outside the district.

I stop at my house first. Although I am sweaty and my shirt stinks, all I want is a nap. Maybe this morning was too much too soon, because I am exhausted. I change into a clean shirt and pass out on my bed. I am asleep for about ten minutes before I am awaken by a loud noise and yelling. I drag myself out of my room to find Haymitch sitting on my footsteps.

"Still sleeping at any time of day, I see," he says.

"Look who's talking,' I reply and come down a few steps. How many times have I found Haymitch passed out on surfaces where no other human being could possibly sleep on? At all times of the day? I'm about to poke some fun at him when I notice the smell. Or lack thereof. Could Haymitch possibly be sober? "What's wrong with you?" I inquire.

"What's wrong with you?" He scowls back at me.

"Haymitch, did you run out of liquor?" I can't think of any other explanation for what I'm seeing.

"No. Yes. Sort of. I'm starting the geese thing, you know. Actually, I was going to postpone trying to raise the little beasts until next year. Then I ran of liquor." He's looking around and I know he's wondering whether I have a hidden stash somewhere.

"Well, I'm sorry, but you finished the last bottles I had last week. Or, do you think I didn't notice my kitchen cabinets had been raided overnight?"

"Fine," he grumbles.

"Fine," I reply and we sit in silence for about five minutes. It's funny how alert Haymitch looks when there's no liquor around. I think he only blinked twice during the whole time I stared at him. He looks worried. Or lost. As much as the both of us could communicate through simple actions in the arena, I never got a hold of reading his facial expressions.

"Haymitch, are you alright?" I'm starting to get concerned with how little he blinks.

"You see, sweetheart, they say raising geese is fun. They also say I need a hobby." Haymitch has a habit of deflecting from the important questions. "I guess the real issue here is: how on earth do I get the geese to stay?"

"You don't mean you're actually trying to get wild geese to stay around, or are you?" I'm confused, I thought he had an idea of what he was doing.

"Where else can I find geese, Mockingjay? They've been flying this direction anyway."

I chuckle, but he looks offended. "I think wild geese won't do. You need to get some domesticated ones, or goslings. Why don't you talk to Greasy Sae about it? I saw her feeding some geese the goat man was raising once, maybe she can help." He nods, though he doesn't get up. I don't know why I think there's a deeper reason to why Haymitch wants to raise geese. Yet, I don't probe him further. His sober self can look even more broken than when he's drunk and grumpy.

I have to go to Peeta's. Not just because I'm hungry, although I hope he's been baking. I'm worried about Haymitch so I drag him in with me. The truth is, I have no idea why I even doubted if Peeta would be baking, since what's in front of me is clearly enough to stock two bakeries or more. Haymitch takes the opportunity to go through Peeta's cabinets and closets. I sense Peeta wants to tell him there's nothing to be found, so I gesture that it's better to let Haymitch be. It's something to keep him occupied. I sit at the table and find my favorites. The cheese buns are still hot. Peeta probably just took them out of the oven. It's like he timed it perfectly, just for my daily visit. Or maybe it's just a coincidence, since I'm watching Peeta and he doesn't look quite like himself. At least not like the part of the old Peeta I thought was surfacing in the last few days.

Suddenly it hits me why he's baked so much. Just like Haymitch, he's trying to keep busy to avoid something else. I gather that's the same reason I went to the woods this morning. We're all trying to run away from our fears rather than to face them.

When Haymitch comes back, he takes a seat next to me and begins to carve a loaf of bread with his knife. A year ago, Peeta would have scowled at him for destroying a perfectly good loaf. However, he doesn't even notice Haymitch, obviously too focused on kneading the dough. What is happening? At least with alcohol in his body, Haymitch would manage to keep us irritated or disgusted enough not to lose our sanity. But this, the three of us avoiding our problems like cowards, is just tragic. I realize I'm stuffing myself so much I might get sick. So before that happens, I push both Peeta and Haymitch through the backdoor into the yard. Peeta protests and mumbles something about the oven. I ignore it together with Haymitch's plea for going back inside to retrieve his knife. Today has to count for something and this is why I have my game bag with me.

I take out the gardening tools and start to prepare the earth. Haymitch and Peeta are looking at each other, probably wondering if I am out of my mind. It is only after I start to bury the mint by its roots that they clue in to what I'm doing. Haymitch can tell my reasoning even before Peeta kneels down to help me. He doesn't join us, though. He seems perfectly happy watching us bring the herb garden to life. I wonder if that's how it was when we were in the arena for the first time. Haymitch trying to keep himself sober while he watched us bond over our need for mutual survival.

We plant the herbs I don't quite recognize in a separate area, and when Haymitch says he's going after Greasy Sae, Peeta joins me at my house for hot chocolate while we try to identify the herbs in my family's plant book.

"This is helpful," he says. "Our mind is too fragile to keep every memory and detail intact."

Peeta would know about that better than anyone. I realize that as much as I would like to forget, there is a point to remembering everything we've been through. It made us who we are today. And without our memories, how can we know ourselves? So the following day, when I speak to Dr. Aurelius,  _I tell him my idea about the book, and a large box of parchment sheets arrives on the next train from the Capitol._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

I carry the box filled with parchment home. I am pleased with my decision to undertake this project, though it doesn't make me less of afraid of beginning it.  _I got the idea from our family's plant book._ Having witnessed so much in the last two years, including Peeta's ordeal, I think it's the right thing to do. This will be our memory book.  _The place where we recorded those things you cannot trust to memory._

Peeta comes over for breakfast and inquires about the box on the table. I haven't told him yet. Lately, he doesn't seem to be doing as great as I'd thought, and I don't want to strain his memory. I tell him it's a care package from my mother and he lets it go. We feast on french toast and try all flavours of jam Effie sent us last week from the Capitol. I wonder what she'd say if she saw me digging through the raspberry jam jar with my index finger and Peeta sitting around with his elbows spread on the table. He must be thinking the same thing, because he giggles. I'm glad he's learning to read me again. With my low talent for words, I'm betting on his instincts to keep this friendship going.

"Katniss," he says while he brings a tissue to my mouth. "There. Just a little jam smudge."

I can't explain why I do it, but before he can take his hand away from my face, I hold on to it and keep it pressed on my cheek. It's warm and soft, and I didn't know until now how much I've missed its touch. Only after I open my eyes I notice Peeta has come closer.

"I have to go now," he says after kissing my forehead, and then he's gone. I don't see him again for the rest of the day. I suppose this is my fault, for reaching out too soon, for reaching out at all. I find myself resenting him for making me spend another day by myself. I feel so lonely, but I need to learn how to accept that everything's changed. I'm alone now and all I have is a mix of bittersweet memories and nightmares.  _It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart._  Finnick's words still ring true in my ear and I think nothing else could be truer at this moment.

I put the parchment away. If I think Peeta is not ready for this, what assures me I am? It's probably a bad idea anyway, I don't know why the doctor agreed to it. I already spend half my day in denial; pretending Prim is still at school. Only when the night comes, I have no excuse to get me by. Buttercup is having the hardest time of us both, since I still catch him waiting for her in her bed. Stupid cat. I lie on the sofa and he follows me. Sometimes I wish he hadn't returned, his presence only makes it worse. But Prim would like me to keep him, so I let him play with a ball of yarn by the fireplace. There's no fire today. Spring has definitely sprung and if it wasn't for the rainy days, I could swear it was summer already. Despite that, I feel cold. I grab a blanket and stare at the ceiling all day. Sometimes I doze off, but mostly I am awake and irritated. I'm mad. Mad at my mother, mad at Gale, mad at Peeta. I realise I'm overreacting due to my own bad mood when I think, just for a second, that I'm mad at Prim. I take the yarn from Buttercup and tie knots. I guess today, whatever day it is, is just not one of the good ones.

I get up once or twice to go to the bathroom or to munch on something. Other than that, I plan on staying inside all day. When the sun sets I can tell it had been a beautiful day. It doesn't matter. What's the point if I have no one left to share it with? I lie back on the sofa, feeling sorry for myself, and take my pills before I fall asleep. They don't help with the nightmares, but at least I don't have to fight insomnia or, even worse, the terrifying realisation that I am alone for good now.

Or so I thought.

I wake up with the noise of my front door being blasted open. The silhouette in between the door frames tells me it's Peeta. Couldn't he have been more careful? What is he doing here so late anyway? It must be way past midnight. I'm frowning and before I can scowl at him for being so noisy, I see his face. His smile is shy, yet it carries a hint of mischief. It takes me a few seconds to realise why I can see his face at all, given that the house was pitch dark when I fell asleep. Peeta is carrying a candle. No, he's carrying an object with a candle. Have I forgotten something?

"Happy birthday, Katniss." He comes closer and I can see a beautifully decorated cake in his hands. It's perfect. The details in the piping are so intricate and, could those be katniss flowers? The three-petal flowers are everywhere on the icing. He seems pleased with himself, and I'm glad he's here. But I honestly think I have nothing to celebrate this year and I didn't even think about how my birthday was near.

"I'm sorry. I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry. I just wanted to be the first one." He apologizes some more and sits on the floor shaking his head.

"Peeta, it's ok. Thank you. It's beautiful." I realise this is probably why he left right after breakfast. To bake the cake. I should be the one apologizing then. I got mad at him for leaving me alone, when, in fact, he was planning to surprise me all along. This is so much like something the old Peeta would do; it makes me feel hopeful. I look at him. He's facing away from me and mumbling something to himself. I want to reassure him it's alright, so I sit down and take some of the icing with my fingers. He finally looks up. "It's delicious, really. I'm just a bit half-asleep, because of my meds. But I love it, Peeta. I really do." Although I say these things to comfort him, I really mean them. This feels like the first nice gesture I have experienced since the war that has nothing to do with pity or the need to look after me.

"Here, try a piece," he says after taking a knife, forks, and two plates from a bag. When he's about to dig the knife into it, he hesitates and puts it aside. "I almost forgot. Katniss, you have to make a wish."

Oh, he's right. There are so many things I could wish for but none of them are possible. The dead will not come back. The scars will not heal. What was said cannot be unsaid, and what was done cannot be undone. I decide I'll wish for the only thing I think could be attainable, maybe not now, but someday. I'll wish to feel peace. I come closer to the candle, its flame flickers as I breathe. And as soon as I collect the air to blow it away, I change my mind. I find myself wishing for what can only be a miracle. I wish for my loneliness to go away. I wish for Peeta to love me again.

My cheeks are as red as the piece of red velvet cake he hands to me. Peeta has lit another candle, but I hope it's still dark enough so he can't read my face. I want him back. I miss the days when Peeta loved me, though I don't know what that means in regards to my own feelings for him. Besides, I know it will be impossible for him to ever feel that way again, so I spend the rest of night carefully selecting conversation topics. I avoid anything that could make me think of his hugs, his kisses, or even the way he used to stroke my hair. The problem is that they are all I can think about. What is wrong with me? I though I'd given up on the idea of loving Peeta long time ago. His hijacked self showed me off. It's just that, despite what my feelings could be, I miss his way of loving me.

"Katniss, is everything ok?" Peeta asks me. He looks worried. I wonder if he knows I'm asking myself the same question.

"Yes, it's alright. Thanks for the surprise. I'd actually forgotten my birthday was coming soon."

"Really? I've been thinking about it for days. I know you're not one to make a fuss for your own birthday, but you're turning eighteen and I thought that called for at least something. I even went to the woods to pick some katniss roots. For research, I mean. The stream is very beautiful, we should go there one of these days for a picnic. What do you think?" He asks me.

Peeta went to the woods? By himself? And he wants me to go back with him? That feels strange and I don't know how to react to his invitation. So I scowl at him instead.

"Peeta, that's dangerous! You shouldn't go back there alone!"

"Well, and I'm the one with a memory problem here. In case you've forgotten I managed to come out alive from two Hunger Games arenas, the Capitol's prison, and a war mission. I think I can manage some trees, Katniss."

"I'm sorry, I just worry, ok? There are bears and other wild animals too." I can't tell if he's offended or not, until he smirks at me and takes my hand.

"Thanks for worrying. I guess you're still trying to protect me. Besides, I do know how to use a weapon, I had some knives on me." He takes another piece of cake and stares at the candle. His face is now serious, like his thoughts are somewhere very far away from here. "Can I tell you something?" he asks and I nod. "I spoke to Johanna yesterday. Dr. Aurelius thinks that, because of our connection, it's helpful to try to make sense of what we went through together. She's nice, you know. She can, clearly, be a piece of work, but she really understands what I went through and what I'm still going through."

"You mean what you both went through when you were captured?" I try to see where he's going with this, though there's a different question in my mind right now.  _Why is he talking about Johanna Mason and why does it make me feel jealous?_

"Yes, that too," he replies. "But, I mean, she lost everyone she had, just like I did. Her past is made of holes left by people the Capitol took away from her. Remember when she said there was nobody left she loved? That's terrible."

"And you feel like that, Peeta? Like there's nobody left you love?" It pains me to ask this question, while I try to gulp back my feelings, whatever they may be. Am I not here for him to love me?

"Well, it's different. I still have some friends. There's Haymitch, Delly, and there's you. So I'm not as alone as she was. Still, I struggle. The other day I couldn't remember the colour of my father's eyes, and you know what I did? I ran to the bakery so I could verify it. Then I remembered there was no bakery anymore, and I'd never see my father again. I miss him, and my brothers. I think I even miss my mother."

My eagerness to have Peeta love me again has made me selfish. He also needs love and support, even though it's clear he'll always see me as a friend from now on. I scoot over and lay my head on his shoulders. I wait for him to rest his head on mine and when he does, I take his hand. Peeta is crying. This is not like the times when I've seen him cry before. This is a painful, desperate sob, of someone who has realised everything he's lost. I imagine this is what Johanna went through after there was nothing left for her to hold on to anymore. Her scars are deeper than mine will ever be. I won't let this happen to Peeta, though. We have each other and we'll help each other through this.

When he calms down, I get up and bring the parchment to him. I tell him of my plan and how it could be good for us. He's unsure, though he agrees to help me. We're sitting on the floor against the sofa when he holds me in his arms. I let myself listen to his strong heartbeat while he watches the candle flicker out. He must think I'm asleep when he gently kisses my head. I hold on tighter, in hopes that one day he'll realise there is still someone left for him to love: me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

I don't remember when Peeta left. All I know is that the sun is shining on my face and the phone won't stop ringing. I'm lying on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, fighting Buttercup off because he won't stop scratching the side table and the noise is almost as annoying as the phone. Since Buttercup seems to be winning this battle, I decide to give in and get the phone. I assume it's my mother. Who else would call me this early? Then I remember it's my birthday, so it could be anyone.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Oh, hi Catnip," the caller replies. Only one person in the world calls me Catnip and the thought of him sends shivers down my spine. Except it is not his voice I hear. This is a woman's voice.

"Hi, Johanna."

"What? No reaction? And I had picked my first sentence so carefully. Can't say I'm disappointed, you're not one for jokes anyway."

"No, I'm not."

"Peeta would have laughed at it," she adds. The truth is that he wouldn't, because taunting me by imitating a friend I lost isn't funny in anyone's world besides Johanna's. Or maybe he would. I remember the way he teased Finnick about trying to take Annie away from him back in District 13. Except that he wasn't teasing, he was very serious. I shake this off and just hope that Johanna's odd sense of humour hasn't rubbed off on Peeta.

"Sure. How are you?" I ask her. This is my effort to be polite. I guess Johanna became some kind of friend, though, since neither of us seems to be very good at this, we seem to be closer when we're not speaking.

"Progressing. This is the word Dr. Aurelius uses for everything nowadays. He told me to call you. Something about you turning eighteen."

"Yes, thanks. And progressing is good, it's the best we can hope for."

"I guess. I can take more showers now. It was that or accepting a spinster's fate. Because, you know, showers are sort of important." She chuckles. Then she tells me about District 7 and how she's going to District 4 next week to help Annie out. The baby's coming soon and she'll need as much support as she can get. I think about Finnick, and I suppose Johanna does too, because we're both silent on the line for more than a minute. And then she says goodbye. For some reason I think that her phone calls with Peeta must be very different. They actually share things. While I'd like to know more about Johanna, I'm fine the way we are. It is the feeling that Peeta can connect to her in a way I'll never be able to that bothers me. He doesn't omit things from me, but I'm no longer his only confidant when he's struggling with tracker jacker infected memories and the loss of his family. What happened between the nights when my body next to his was all he needed to keep away his fears and these nights when we wake up screaming in separate beds? So much. So much happened.

I shake this thought off my head. I refuse to think through my feelings for Peeta. Not when we're this broken. Not when he's lost his family and I lost Prim. Not when I keep hearing "Hey, Catnip" in my head. I wonder if Gale will call. Probably not. I think our last conversation was definitive of our situation. Irreparably damaged. Still, I miss him. I search myself for what exactly I miss about him. His smile, his voice, his arms, his way of understanding me. His lips? Surprisingly, no. Then again, how can I think about kissing anyone ever again when I've got the miserable aftermath of a rebellion to deal with? We're better off this way. I think of Johanna and her refusal to be alone forever. Not me, I should accept my spinster's fate. Just me in this house and this stupid cat.

"See what you did, you stupid fur ball? You turned me into a cat lady," I tell Buttercup. He hisses at me and I hiss back at him. Hissing seems to be our only effective way of communicating anyway.

The phone rings again and I wonder if this will happen all day. I'm not in the mood to talk, so I consider pulling a Haymitch and ripping it off the wall. Then I remember I'm not supposed to do anything to my phone. Dr. Aurelius needs to keep track of me, after all. Considering that he did send a phone company technician over that time I lied about phone problems, if I actually damage the device he might show up in person to fix it. I pick up the phone again.

"Katniss?"

"Hi, mom." I'm about to ask her how she is and I hear the sobbing. "Why are you crying?"

"I... I found something with my things from District 13. I've had the box here with me for a long time, but I was afraid to open it. In case I found anything of hers." She takes a long pause. I let her. If this will be a topic of conversation today, I'd rather not speak. She finally continues. "Anyway. Annie was here, I'm helping her with the pregnancy. And I asked her to find me some clean cloth in the closet, but she found the box instead. And there's something I think you should have, so I sent it over. I hope it arrives in time for today. Happy birthday!"

"What is it?" I want to know just in case I should avoid it when it gets here. I have a feeling it may be something that could open up another bruise.

"Just wait till it gets there, ok?" She takes a deep breath. My mother was good with words once, and then my father died. I guess I learned from her that silence could be a friend. I can tell she's struggling to find the words, so I help her out.

"Mom, it's okay. I understand you can't come back."

"I'm not shutting out again, Katniss. I promise. I... I just need time."

"Me too." We both need time, so she tells me she loves me and hangs up.

I can't take any more phone calls like this, so I better get out of the house. I go upstairs and take a bath. I lie there with my head almost submerged, just enough so I don't hear a sound other than the water in my ears. I lose track of time and my skin feels like a prune when I finally get out. I think about where to go. I want to see Peeta. It's almost lunchtime and I haven't heard from him. There's still some cake where he left it, so he must think I don't need him to bring me bread today. It's strange, but we don't spend much time outside of meals or preparing food. Does he think that's what we are? Meal companions? I hope not. In case he does think that, I decide to go see him and not eat anything. Even if he shoves cheese buns on my face.

I head over to his house. It's locked. Peeta doesn't lock it if he's home, so he must be somewhere else. What do I do now? I feel awkward on my birthdays. I don't like the attention. Besides, birthdays before I was twelve only meant I was one year closer to the reaping. Even after that, every year of my life also meant Prim would be twelve soon. I wanted to avoid the year of her first reaping as much as I could. If only I knew then what would follow from that one reaping day.

I decide to walk back home when something catches my eye. It's a man in regular clean clothes tending to birds in the distance. I have to check this out myself so I run to Haymitch's backyard. He has a small fence around it now. I remember seeing Thom build it the other day, though I didn't give it too much thought then. Of course it's to keep the geese inside. I watch Haymitch from outside. He's focused and doesn't see me. This is a whole new Haymitch. He's sober, yet he's not grumpy. At least not like when we were filming propos and he took his lack of alcohol out on me. Not that it bothered me that much. Haymitch and I have a way of understanding each other. At first I thought it was because of our survival instincts, but after Peeta's hijacking I realized there was much more to it. It's almost like we're family to each other. In our own awkward way.

"Hey, Mockingjay. I didn't see you there. So what do you think? They're getting fat already." He's pointing as the goslings. They're running around and two of them are bickering about a specific spot under a tree. This is turning out to be a very hot day and I wouldn't mind some shade either.

"They're looking all right. You too, Haymitch," I smile at him.

"I get by, sweetheart. Now, how about a drink? Summer must be arriving earlier this year. In any case, we should get inside."

I follow him into his kitchen and realize that by a "drink" Haymitch did mean liquor. I thought he was done with it. He looks sober and clean and he's about to ruin it with alcohol. "Haymitch, where did you get the white liquor?"

"Sae. She's importing it now. Very entrepreneurial of her. Don't worry, though. I'm in control. Just this one today. For the special occasion." He winks. I'm glad he stops there, the birthday thing is starting to make me sick to my stomach. Haymitch offers me some lemonade and cookies. I don't know where he got the lemons, but the cookies were clearly made by Peeta. There's such detail in the icing.

Haymitch is staring at me and I see a question hanging from his lips. "Spit it out," I tell him. There's no point in beating around the bushes when it comes to him.

"I saw the boy leaving your house last night.  _Late_  last night." He pauses, expecting me to interrupt him anyway. I don't. I'd rather see where he's going with this and let him continue. "So what are you now? Star-crossed lovers of District 12 again?"

"No. Why does it matter?" I'm annoyed. Haymitch knows I hate being called that and he does it on purpose.

"Nothing. As long as you're not trying to kill each other, I'm good with it." He winks again.

I don't know if he does it to irritate me or to get me to really say what's on my mind. Either way, he gets both. "I screwed up, Haymitch. You were right. I don't deserve him. Maybe if I had loved him enough, he could have endured. Maybe his mind wouldn't have been so far gone. Maybe he'd be doing better today. I should have given him more to hold on to, and I didn't. I didn't know then how much reality matters. I didn't know the impact all my acting would have on him. Not under these circumstances." I take a deep breath and wait for Haymitch to say something. He doesn't. He just stares at me while he carves the table with the knife in his right hand. The knife snaps a piece of the wood and he breaks the silence.

"I'm going to say something just this one time, sweetheart. Pay attention to it closely." He cleans his throat and stares into my eyes. "Cut the crap, okay? You weren't acting. You were feeling things you didn't understand and, I don't know, probably refused to think through. The Capitol, the arenas, they just developed the scenarios for something that would happen anyway if you got to know each other. You may not know this yet, but that feeling you always talk about, of owing him for that bread, it's more than just debt. One could even call it love. The Capitol just gave it a little push." I want to protest, but he shushes me. "Like I said, you may not know this yet, but I think you will. So whatever this is, what you two are up to again, just get rid of the self-pity and blame. There's no need for that. You are both alive and that should count for something."

I digest Haymitch's words while he pours himself another drink. I feel there's a back story to his advice, but I don't push it. Some bruises are better left untouched. Instead, I focus on how many times I thought I would die, that Peeta would die, that we'd both die. I remember the moment when I accepted my death as a sweeter alternative than returning to District 12 without Peeta. All of that, and still, we both lived. Haymitch's right, that should count for something.

I leave him to his solitude. I can tell that what he said stirred up some memories within him and there's nothing I can say to him that will help more than that bottle. I certainly would consume the whole thing if Peeta had died too. This thought makes me want to see him even more than this morning. I have to check on him, make sure he's still alive. I'm sure the fear of Peeta's death will never leave me. His house is still locked. Maybe he's inside. Maybe he's in pain. Panic settles. If he's in pain, I need to help him. I call out his name. No response. I call him again and this time I hear his voice. He's behind me.

"What's happening, Katniss? Is everything okay? You were calling me," he says.

He's alive. He looks well too. He's not in pain. In my eagerness to ensure that he's okay, I jump at him and wrap my arms around his neck. It's clear to me that I caught him off guard, because we both hit the ground. Except there's no snow to break our fall like the last time I made him lose his balance in front of his house, before our Victory Tour, while cameras recorded every second of it. I'm lying on top of him. He's staring at me. I can almost feel it, and then he looks away. He got a scratch on his elbow. So unlike last time we fell on this very spot, his lips do not touch mine. Instead, he gently pushes me away and tends to his injury. He's bleeding. Great. The moment I try to protect him from any more pain, I cause him to bleed out of his arm. I help him up, though he doesn't seem too bothered by the scratch.

"This is funny. I feel like this has happened before." He says, scratching his temple. "Except that it was cold and I wasn't bleeding."

"Yes, the beginning of our Victory Tour. You were still getting used to your leg and I was being reckless. Like now."

"It's alright, I just need a bandage. This is the first time I can recall that day without the memory being shiny. Without my head telling me you were tackling me to the ground, to hurt me."

"I'm glad you remember. I'm sorry this time I did hurt you."

"It's alright, really." He ponders a thought for a while. "Last time we kissed. It was our first kiss since we returned."

"Yes, it was." I'm blushing. I turn around and start walking Peeta to my house so I can clean his bruise, hoping he won't notice my face.

He stops me. "I remember that one feeling more real. More than the ones in the cave, anyway. What changed? Did you miss me?" I refuse to look at him when I nod. I need to be honest with him if I am to help him make sense of the past. From the corner of my eye, I see a smirk. Then he runs back to where we fell and comes back with a package. "I almost forgot this," he says. "Your mother asked me to pick it up at the station, just in case you didn't. It's for you."

We arrive at my house and I put a bandage on his elbow before turning my attention to the package. It's small. I wonder what's inside. I wonder if what's inside could make me fall apart. I'm afraid.

"Peeta, would you open it for me? If it's something that belonged to Prim, just leave it." I can't deal with it.

He carefully tears the paper around the box. "There's a note, it's from your mother. She says:  _Prim got this for you when you joined the squad to go to the Capitol. She meant to give it to you before you left, but she couldn't find it. It ended up among her school material. But here it is._ " He holds out the small object. He looks slightly confused. "Katniss, is this that locket I gave you?"

"No, that one is upstairs. The resemblance is uncanny though." Why would Prim give me another locket? Then it hits me. The symbolism behind Peeta's gesture at the beach, trying to convince me to fight on for the people whose photos that locket carried. The Capitol mission would be my final battle. Prim would want me to fight on too. I take the locket off Peeta's hand and open it. Staring at me is a photo of Peeta himself, with the sincere smile of a healthy mind. Of a boy who loved me. Something worth fighting for. It's like she knew it all along.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

With the newfound strength given by the locket, I take the parchment and ask Peeta if we could start working on the book. I'm not sure exactly how it will look, or what it will accomplish even, though I have some idea of what to do.  _The page begins with the person's picture. A photo if we can find it. If not, a sketch or painting by Peeta_.  I want to do Prim first. Begin with the hardest, I tell myself. I took down every photo of her the first day after my return. Although I could find them again and use one of them, I'd prefer if Peeta were the one to make her eternal on this piece of paper.

"That's a lot of responsibility," he says.

"Exactly. That's why I think you should do it. She would have liked it. I overheard her tell our mother once that she'd like to ask you to paint a picture of the three of us," I tell him. It's true, she was going to ask him after our Victory Tour. Then everything happened.

"All right. I have to go home and get my brushes and pencils. Also, I'm kind of hungry. Do you mind if I come back after I grab a bite to eat?" he asks me. I'm offended by the suggestion that he'd sit alone in his house over a plate of food, when I'll also be alone in mine, craving his company.

"How about you go get the materials while I fix ourselves something to eat?" I ask him. He arches his right eyebrow. I can't read whether he finds this surprising or suspicious, so I add more information. "Greasy Sae brought me a ton of soup yesterday morning. Besides, we could use some of the herbs in your garden. We can't let the soup, or the greens, go to waste."

"Okay, then. I'll maybe bring some chives. They could help with whatever Greasy Sae has in store for us," he tells me before he turns on his heels and leaves.

I sit by myself for a while. I'm still full from the cookies at Haymitch's, and I had promised myself I wouldn't share a meal with Peeta today. Stupid me. He was hinting that we don't have to eat every meal together and I pushed it on him. Now it's too late and I get up and turn on the stove. It doesn't take long until the soup is warm. I can tell there's bacon in it, which makes it smells delicious. I wait for Peeta in the kitchen, but it's an hour later and he hasn't come back. Maybe I should go get him. No. After I jumped on him today, he must think I'm very needy and lonely. Although it's true, I don't want to give him more reason to believe it. I'm pondering whether to go after him or not for a few more minutes, when he shows up. He brings his craft case and a bag. He's clean-shaven and must have had a shower. His hair is wet and I can smell his after-shave from here. It's one of my favourite smells, next to the woods and lamb stew.

"Sorry I took this long. After waiting for the train under the scorching sun, I felt disgusting," he says as he puts what he's carrying on the table.

"Did you wait all morning?" I ask him.

"Yes, but I had to go there anyway. I had to mail a parcel," he says. He empties the contents of the bag. There are the chives he promised, along with toast and a small box wrapped in paper. I take it and begin to unwrap it when Peeta stops me.

"That's for later," he says. It only makes me more curious, but I try not to show it and begin chopping the chives to add to the soup.

"So what parcel was it? That you had to mail?" I ask him.

"Just something I had to. I can't tell you just yet," he replies.

Peeta is keeping secrets from me. I know it's hard for him to share some of his experiences from the Capitol, some of his nightmares. I know he can't tell me everything, but this feels like hiding. I wonder if he's told Johanna and I feel jealousy filling me up again. Of their friendship. I want to convince myself that's all there is. I know Peeta doesn't love me anymore, but what if he's falling for someone else? Someone with whom he also has a lot in common? I open my mouth to ask him to grab a couple of plates and something else entirely comes out of it.

"You can't tell me, but you can probably tell Johanna, right? She's your phone buddy."

He looks confused and just stares at me. Great. If before he saw me as needy and lonely, now I'm also a crazy jealous woman.

"Not sure what you're referring to, Katniss. Johanna and I talk once a week for thirty minutes and Dr. Aurelius sends us his chosen topic of conversation. We were tortured together and neither of us have family left. But it's not like I tell her my life secrets," he says.

I feel dumb for bringing that up. I have no reason to be jealous of Johanna. I have no reason to be jealous at all. Peeta and I are not a couple and he can do whatever he wants. I can do whatever I want too, except I don't know what I want. All I know is what I need. I need him closer to me like before. For that to happen, though, I need him to learn to open up to me again.

"So why can't you tell me about the parcel?" I push.

"It's nothing, Katniss. Some permits, some orders. Business related stuff," he answers.

"Business? Like bakery business?"

"Yes, like bakery business. Now you know it. I just haven't told anyone about it yet. I heard the paperwork can take up to a year and I don't even know if they'll give me a permit. I didn't want to look like a fool when they didn't," he confesses.

"Well, then your memory must be really faulty if you think they'd deny you anything. Peeta, this country owes you so much. They'll let you do anything you want," I point out.

"They owe you a lot more than they owe me and they won't even let you out of the district." He doesn't sound too convinced.

"That's because I shot the wrong president, remember? Besides, who said I want to leave District 12?"

"You don't?" He asks me. He's genuinely surprised. "I thought you did. To see your mother." He pauses for a second. "To see Gale."

Gale doesn't really come up when Peeta and I talk, at least since the war. Even when we're discussing our lives before the games, I never mention him. So I'm stunned by Peeta's mention of my former best friend. I don't know what to tell him, really, and I avoid that part of his suggestion. I miss Gale and I wish we could still be friends, but I know it won't be possible. The wall between us is too large. As much as it hurts me to conclude that.

"My mother needs some time to grieve away from me. She'll come visit me when she's ready."

"And... him?" Peeta doesn't let it go.

"He's fine without me," I tell him.

"All right," he says and rests his case. I reckon that maybe what caused me to bring up Johanna earlier is what caused Peeta to bring up Gale now. Though he has plenty of reason to distrust me when it comes to Gale. I try not to read too much into it. We're just jealous of each other having other friends. Haymitch would disagree with that simple conclusion, but I can't afford to think through it. It's already hard enough to keep my sanity as it is.

We have the soup and the toast and, after, Peeta unwraps the small package he brought. It's a box of chocolate truffles. Even though this is new Panem, fine chocolate like this is still hard to order.

"I had to go through Plutarch to get this, but it was easy for him after I mentioned it was for your birthday. They're made by the same chocolatier that used to provide those chocolate-covered strawberries at the training centre."

"Oh thanks, Peeta. You didn't have to go through so much trouble."

"To be honest, I kind of wanted some too. I just needed an excuse." He grins at me.

We bring the truffles to the living room and start to work on the parchment. We decide where the picture will go and where to write the description. There's no work for me yet, so I watch Peeta do his magic. He lightly sketches Prim's face and then carefully separates his yellows for working on her hair. He alternates the colours and her braids slowly come to life. He makes her smile and in her hand is a small primrose. Her dress is as blue as her eyes and her shoes remind me of the ones I wore during our interview with Caesar Flickerman right after our first games.

When he's done with Prim, he continues with his family. He never thought to bring any pictures of them to his house in the Victor's Village, so he has to rely completely on memory when he draws his father's nose, or his brothers' strong hands. They're sporting a smile, except his mother. She's carrying the usual frown, which makes me think that Peeta, at least, remembers her correctly. The sketch is ready, though he doesn't add colour to it yet. He's fumbling through his blues, greens, and browns, and I can see panic in his eyes. At first, I don't know what to do. Then I remember.

"Peeta, your dad had blue eyes like yours. They were deep, yet a little tired. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you this after you told me you couldn't remember."

He lets out a deep breath of relief and puts the pencils away. He brings his right hand to mine. It's warm and just a bit sweaty from drawing.

"Thanks. Maybe I should leave it like this. Showing exactly what I can remember by myself," he tells me.

I nod and we make a list of everyone we want to include in the book. It's less painful than I thought it would be. This is only the easy part, though. I can't imagine what my state will be when it's my turn to write the descriptions, to remember every important detail. I assume it will be something like what I see in Peeta right now. He's staring at the floor, his mind far away from here. Too much too soon, perhaps. I rest my head on his shoulder for comfort and, to my surprise, he brings his arms around me as we pull deeper into the sofa. His body makes me feel safe and I suppose my warmth does the same for him.

"Maybe we should take a break and continue tomorrow," I suggest. He nods, but he doesn't leave. I smile at the thought that, maybe, he needs my presence. Maybe he  _wants_  my presence. Neither of us is up for conversation, though. We turn on the television and watch a silly Capitol movie. I think it's meant to be a comedy about two old women, but we only laugh at the serious parts. Capitol entertainment always had the opposite effect on me. Even after the movie is over, we remain on the sofa. His arms still wrapped around me. It was a warm day, but the night is cool and breezy and we cover ourselves with a thin blanket. We fall asleep right there and then. I wake up from a nightmare in the middle of the night, he holds me tighter. When I open my eyes again, it's morning and Peeta is sound asleep. He never left. Despite our awkward position on the cushions, I haven't felt this comfortable in months.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

I'm afraid I'll wake him up and ruin this moment. Of all the things I liked about having Peeta sleep next to me, the steadiness I felt when seeing his face whenever I opened my eyes was my favourite. His arms protect me and his body keeps me warm, but it's the certainty of knowing he's here with me that lets me know I haven't lost everything. Yet. This is why I keep quiet and wait for him to awake. The problem is that I can't keep quiet for long. I am suddenly aware of every move I make and my focus on the boy sharing a blanket with me makes me paranoid I'm swallowing too loud, as if my mouth is watering. Is it? I dismiss it as a sign of hunger and decide to get up at once. I nudge Peeta to the side and I can see he's half-awake now.

"Oh," he whispers. He's looking around, trying to make sense of where he is when his eyes land on me, standing under the arches that separate the living room from the hallway. It seems to bring him to his senses, as he sits up quickly and begins folding the blanket that covered him. "I'm so sorry, Katniss. I must have lost track of time. I didn't mean to."

I stare at his apologetic ways. His fear of disappointing me, better yet, his fear of hurting me is what lets me know the old Peeta was only lost inside that shell, and he's slowly coming back. I suppose that's a big difference from the boy who wanted to kill me, enraged with tracker jacker venom. I let out a smile big enough so he's assured his presence didn't bother me, and small enough so I don't give away that his presence was actually something I had been craving.

"I'm hungry. Do you want anything?" I ask him.

"I can't. I'm supposed to take my medicine before any meals in the morning."

"Oh, I see." Sometimes I forget Peeta is on medication, just like me. This realization has an upsetting effect on me. It reminds me how, despite the good night I had, we're not all right. Not at all. I think about how I haven't seen Peeta have a flashback in a while, nor he has told me about one. Maybe his medicine is working, or maybe he's not telling me about everything he struggles with. I sure haven't told him how he's made constant appearances in my nightmares. While I had dreams in which he was trying to choke me, now it's his death that haunts me again. Silver parachutes falling down. Explosions. Madness. Prim and Peeta burning together right before my eyes. I take a deep breath to send these thoughts away.

"Maybe you could go take your pills and come back to eat," I suggest.

"Actually, I better go. I'm not that hungry anyway." He says as he gets up to leave. When he's at the door, he turns around and says, "I'll see you later, okay?"

The door closes right in front of me. I'm still standing on the same spot, feeling rejected. The way he said those last words is bothering me. He tried to smile but his eyes showed me something else. Doubt. As if he wasn't really sure he'd see me later. While his spending the night was good for me, I wonder what it did to his memories and sanity. Peeta is fighting his own demons and it's clear he wants to do it away from me. I want to fight his resolution to go through this alone. I'm here, aren't I? I make an omelette and fry some bacon. I put them in a plate and am ready to take them to Peeta's house when my eyes catch something inside the cutlery drawer. Underneath the tray holding the forks and spoons I see the corner of a paper. Without thinking, I pull it out. How I wish I hadn't.

My mother must have put it here one day. The refrigerator door was probably already covered in her drawings and little poems, so she kept it here. It's Prim's last report card from the school in District 12. All A's. What a bright cookie, she was. In a second, I'm on the floor weeping over the brilliant future my sister will never have. The doctor she'll never become. The lives she'll never save. No, I can't think that way. Because it was her effort to save lives that sent her straight into the parachutes and there was nothing I could do to save her from that terrible fate.

What could have been a good day becomes a bad one. The omelette sits on the table, untouched, as I drag myself to my bedroom. I guess there's no way of predicting what each day could bring me. I sit on my bed, hugging my knees. I feel alone and out of place. This house is not a home and I think it will never feel like one. The rain is falling and I allow the wind to blow some drops inside through the open window. The heavier it gets, the more I can feel the droplets sprinkle my face. I get up and walk closer to the window. The need to be washed away consumes me. I shut the glass and run down the stairs only to rush out of my backdoor. I'm standing in my backyard now. My eyes are closed, my head is lifted high. The rain is warm, announcing we won't have to wait much longer for summer.

I begin to sing. It's as if I'm back at the training center again, standing on the edge of sanity. I go through every song I could think of and breakdown when I half-whisper, half-sing, one my father used to nurse Prim to sleep with. I know they cannot hear it, though, singing it makes me feel them closer to me somehow. I'm sure I look like a lunatic. Standing in the heavy rain, singing every song I ever heard my father sing. I laugh at the thought of "The Hanging Tree." I try to think of the small boy Peeta once was, listening to my father and waiting for the birds to fall silent. How my mother banned the song because of what it entailed. Life then was so terrible, yet so simple. Simple because we had no idea the lyrics behind that song would be the least of our concerns.

The rain begins to retreat. I don't want to be inside. The air is more breathable out here. Besides, it's like there's a trap waiting for me in every drawer, every corner, every closet in my home. I walk back to the kitchen just to retrieve my bow and arrows. A rainy day is not as good for shooting prey as it is for finding it in snares, but I have to make my way there. I'm certain of it. The town is quiet. Everyone must be in their homes, waiting for the rain to pass. The solitude it gives me is refreshing and it lets me know I'll feel even better when I get to the woods. And I do. The smell of wet pine works better than any pills Dr. Aurelius could prescribe me. I find a tree and climb up. I sit there while I wait for the woods to slowly come back to life again as a rainbow graces the skies. I can only see part of it from below the leaves, but it always seems to look more beautiful over here than it does in town. I make a mental note to bring Peeta with me one day after a storm. Maybe it'd help him figure out a rainbow a little better. That is, of course, if he even remembers wanting to do so.

I can hear movement as soon as the last drop falls. The animals know it's time to come out for food now that the rain is gone and so do I. I shoot the first rabbit I see. It's not a clean shot, but it's very good considering I don't hunt everyday anymore. I don't come down just yet. I like the vantage point I have from up here and I wait for my next target. I hear noise from my other side and see a squirrel make its way up a nearby tree. I position myself better and wait, moving my angle slightly. Right in the eye. I'm smiling. I feel like myself, even though I know that feeling won't stay for long. I'm a hunter, of that I am sure. I just need to find the strength to make my way over here. It's funny how it was Prim's report card that broke me down and, yet, it led to the chain of events that resulted in me walking home with a fat rabbit and a squirrel in my hunting bag.

I walk to Greasy Sae's and she lets out a big smile when she sees the squirrel.

"Thank you, girl. You know, we can't order these from the Capitol. It's quite a treat," she says. I think about the irony of craving squirrels when we finally have access to good cattle and poultry meat and nod at her.

"Well, you'll be getting these more often," I tell her. Maybe I shouldn't. I don't know what the days to come hold for me, so it could be an empty promise. Or not. Perhaps telling her this will be an incentive to drag me into the woods a little more.

"That sounds good. I'll roast it and make a stew too. I'll bring it this evening. Is that okay if I show up?" she asks.

Sae must have noticed how I've spent more time with Peeta, how we visit each other more. I squint my eyes, hoping she's not implying she'd be interrupting something if she dropped by. "You can come by anytime," I tell her. "Could you make something for Haymitch too?"

"No problem. I have to deliver some liquor and grain to him anyway," she says. "Don't worry, he doesn't order that much liquor anymore," she adds when an expression of worry appears on my face.

I leave her house and walk to mine with the rabbit still in my bag. I want to clean it and freeze it for another day. I'm not the best cook. My meals normally consist of mixing everything I could find together and hoping it tastes good. Given the hunger I was once used to, I couldn't care less about taste as long as it was edible. I know Peeta appreciates decent seasoning, though, so I decide to freeze it until I can learn a recipe. It's only after I skin the rabbit and put it away that I realize I'm deliberately making plans that include Peeta in my life. I blame Haymitch for filling my head with things he shouldn't have. In any case I decide that if I learn a recipe for the rabbit, I'll invite him too so it's not just Peeta and me.

This reminds me of how Peeta didn't seem to be doing very well when he left my house this morning. I peek through my window and see his lights are off, even though the sun has begun to set and a beautiful full moon is up in the sky. Somehow I know he's home, sitting in the dark alone. Maybe fighting a flashback, sinking his nails on his skin as a desperate way of clinging to reality. Sometimes he presses them down so hard he bleeds. I've seen the small bandages. I can't blame him. I've used the same technique myself so many times. Using this one pain to keep a bigger one away. Then just like that my day takes a turn for the worse. Again.

I want him to ask for my help when he's like that. I want him to need my help just like in the arena. It was only after his hijacking that I realized how much I valued him needing me. But how can I ask him to seek me out when I refuse to let him help me too? When I refuse to help myself most days? I walk to the kitchen and warm up the omelette from this morning. It tastes like rubber now, though I still eat it in order not to waste food. I'm really hoping Greasy Sae shows up with some stew and when she does I devour it. She gives me a recipe for roasted rabbit and goes back to her house. I put the piece of paper away when I realize Peeta won't come back today. In fact, I don't see him for days. I retreat to my bedroom again and lose track of time, so maybe a week. I'm haunted by Prim's absence and the fact I can't rely on Gale anymore, or even my mother on her good days, makes it all worse. I wish I had more control of these ups and downs, and I should. Except I now know that how I feel doesn't depend solely on myself or my actions. I can't feel better if Peeta's not around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Basically I think Peeta and Katniss are not quite ready to handle the closeness yet. That's where more about the book-making will come into play in the next chapters :) Thanks for reading and sorry for the delay. I'm in the last stages of my MA degree but that also means that soon I'll be able to update a lot more often. Reviews and comments are really appreciated, so please review if you can.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Get up, Katniss. It's about time." I hear his voice and I choose to ignore it.

Haymitch is outside my bedroom door. I did well to lock it last night because there is no way I'm getting out of bed today. I feel sick and after so many nightmares I could only hope my day is filled with peace and quiet. It would be a nice contrast after the night I had.

"Go home, Haymitch. I don't feel like it," I tell him. It's futile because he just starts knocking on the door even harder. I throw my father's hunting jacket on top of the ragged shirt I'm wearing and open the door. He looks relieved to see me, though I can tell he's worried about something.

"You might want to put some pants on and follow me. Maybe lose the jacket, it's hot outside," he tells me. I want to protest and tell him not even President Paylor could get me out of here today, but his tone is serious and almost urgent.

I do what he says and meet him downstairs. We walk towards town and Haymitch doesn't say another word. He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes and he seems to have gained a few wrinkles. His face reminds me of the day President Snow announced the 75th Quarter Quell. Except there isn't enough liquor in his system to make it hard to separate drunk Haymitch from worried Haymitch. We stop at the square and he signals to the place where once stood the bakery owned by Peeta's family. There is nothing left. Demolition is finally over and now the whole town is ready to be rebuilt. There are trucks carrying sand all over the square and wood pillars have already been erected in some lots. I can make out in the distance what will stand where The Hob was located. The pillars are tall and I foresee two stories. Probably another marketplace. A legal one this time. It's nice to see some rebuilding, still I'm wondering if Haymitch dragged me out of bed just for this.

"Look closer," he says. My confusion must have been apparent because now Haymitch is pointing at the tree that stood behind the bakery that once was. By the apple tree roots sits a boy, instantly taking me back to a rainy day not so long ago when I took shelter in the same place.

"Sae said he's been there since the sun rose. She tried talking to him but he hasn't even moved, let alone spoken. I haven't had any luck either. I guess we should call Dr. Aurelius, but I wanted you to try it before I do that. Who knows what the doctor will do if he thinks it's a relapse?" Haymitch says as he walks away. It's clear to me now why he looked so concerned. It must be exhausting for him to find himself still taking care of us. But he's right. Who knows what the doctor will do if he thinks it's a relapse? Maybe more medicine, more phone calls. Or maybe... The thought of it turns my stomach inside out. I haven't seen Peeta in a week and I know he isn't doing very well. If Dr. Aurelius thinks he needs more intensive treatment, he'll have Peeta sent back to the Capitol. He could even have Peeta committed again.

"No." I whisper. If he's gone I'll have nothing left. Nothing.

I start running to the tree and then slow down. I must be cautious; I don't know what's going through his mind. What if my presence makes it worse? If so, running at him definitely won't help. I approach him quietly and take a seat next to him. He doesn't acknowledge my presence and stares at the empty lot instead. His pupils are dilated and he doesn't blink. The sun shines off his blonde eyelashes and I can't help but fixate on their length. I'm always amazed at how long they are. Peeta's breathing is heavy, but paced. Almost as if it's taking all his strength for him to remember to take one breath after another. He clenches his fists on the ground and nails full of dirt sink into his skin. Though he hasn't said a word, I know Peeta's having a flashback. It's a little different from the ones I saw before, more controlled, but the telltale signs are there. I rest my head on the tree trunk and wait. Shaking him out of it could be worse, so I plan to watch his hands until he lets his fists go.

Haymitch was right; it's a hot day. If it wasn't for the spring rain we'd all think it was summer. I'm thankful Peeta chose this tree as a place of rest, though I'm sure his mind is anything but rested. I try to figure out what he's looking at and even though there's nothing but dust where the bakery once stood, his eyes tell me he's looking at the back door. Maybe he's thinking about that day with the bread, maybe it's something else. I'm resolute to just lie under this apple tree when he lets his right hand go. His fingers slowly graze the dirt before he grabs a chunk of it, rubs it between his index finger and his thumb and allows it to fall down like sand. As soon as he places his hand back on the ground, I take a hold of it. To my surprise, he doesn't let go.

"My mother hit me right there," he says pointing to the spot he's been staring at.

"Did you have a flashback, Peeta?" I ask him.

"Sort of. Sometimes flashbacks come with chunks of my memory and until I defeat the shiny images, I can't figure out what the real facts were," he explains, though he doesn't look at me.

"So what was it?" I shouldn't push him, but the internal battle Peeta fights daily is intriguing to me. Besides, I still have my guilt to deal with, never able to rid myself of the conviction that all the things he went through were my fault.

"I remember running from my home this morning. You had ordered an attack on Victor's Village and everything was on fire. But you were a fire mutt so you chased me here. I wanted to hide in my family's bakery but it was gone... How long have I been sitting here?"

"Since sunrise, and the sky tells me it's almost noon." Soon it will be too hot to stand out here, even in the shade.

"Were you here the whole time?" He finally looks at me and I see his pupils are back to a normal size.

"No, maybe just the last half hour. Haymitch was worried." I don't tell him I was worried too. Being close to me can hurt him. Why else would he have had such a bad week after spending the night on my sofa? To think of it, my week wasn't so great either. And now for some reason, the thought that I'm still a monstrous muttation in Peeta's flashbacks seems to forecast more black clouds to hang above my head.

"I'm sorry I disappeared," he says. "That day, I'm not sure why, I woke up afraid of you. I was even more afraid I would hurt you."

"I didn't know. I thought you were..." I can't find the right word. Disappointed? Upset? "I thought you were  _annoyed_ you spent the night. I'm not exactly what one would call pleasant company."

"That's not true. You're perfect," he says after standing and extending a hand to help me up.

It's the first time Peeta said something flattering like that since his hijacking. He's smiling so I can't tell if he's joking. If he is kidding, it's a cruel joke. He couldn't mean it; not after telling me of his flashback.

"No, I'm not. I am a fire mutt, I have the scars to prove it." I decide to test him.

"So do I. Yours just make you more beautiful," he grins at me and I resolve it's a joke indeed. It infuriates me.

"It's not funny. Especially not after you just told me how I'm still the subject of your worse nightmares. It's cruel. I know you don't see me that way anymore, Peeta. I know you can't see me the way you did before." I scowl and march ahead of him.

"I might not have told you, but the moments right after a flashback are my clearest ones. The shinier it is, the more I can pull myself together afterwards. It's the only reason Dr. Aurelius allowed me back, these brief moments of certainty," he says while following me.

This revelation stirs something inside of me. The idea that this Peeta standing behind me is mostly like the old Peeta makes me aware of how he used to love me. How he  _does_  mean it when he says I'm perfect. I'm the most flawed person I know and, perhaps, that's the reason I've missed his compliments so much. Knowing someone loves you makes you feel like a better person, even if you aren't one.

Peeta catches up to me and I find myself walking even faster. The idea that a boy who still loves me, even if it's just for a few minutes, is by my side makes me feel exposed. My guard is down. Just when I was getting accustomed to the idea that we will never work, that we will never be together. No matter how much I miss him. And I truly miss him, I know that very well now.

I stop my stride and turn to him. "I wish you hadn't told me that. About feeling like yourself, after the flashbacks." I say while avoiding his gaze.

"Why not? This is good, Katniss. The minutes of full clarity are like a reward for fighting through the venom and the corrupted images. They give me hope. I'm not sure why that would upset you," he contends.

It upsets me because now I know I can really have him back, wholly, for a brief moment, only to lose him again. Only to relive the pain and anxiety of what another bad memory has in store for him. Not even knowing what monster I'll look like the next time.

"Was it always like that? The sudden clarity?" I ask.

"No. Only after the parachute explosion at the City Circle. Remember when I told you about the diagnosis? One traumatic experience overriding the other? I guess I forgot to mention how my mind is strengthened after each episode. A day without a flashback is a good day, but my mind is never fully healed. The fuzziness doesn't really leave me. Except for moments like this one." He takes a deep breath before confessing, "Sometimes I hope for an episode just so I can enjoy feeling completely like myself for a little while afterwards. Besides, they've lasted longer since I came back. So maybe one day..."

I don't know what to think. All I wish for is to find a way to extend this short period of reality for Peeta, but I can't think of anything. Except that time I kissed him during the mission and he came back to me. If the Peeta standing in front of me is like the old one, he loves me. I could kiss him whenever I felt like it, he told me so. What is the point of it though, if the venom will take over right after and make him broken again? If it will turn any feelings he has for me into a blurry mess? Then it will be just me, alone again. Lingering in hopes of a second kiss I can't really get.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

"I'm tired," Peeta says.

That episode must have exhausted his mind. I reckon he needs rest, but I don't feel like leaving him alone. The idea that the days we spend apart recently involved Peeta suffering through flashbacks all by himself makes me anguished.

"Maybe you could have a shower and take a little nap while I work on the herb garden?" I suggest. I noticed he didn't work on it at all during his bad days and it's in need of a little attention. The basil will go to waste if it is not picked and frozen soon.

"Okay," he says while unlocking his front door. I follow after him, though I decide to do dishes when he goes upstairs without saying another word. His voice was getting weary again and I could tell the minutes of clarity were over. The venom had broken through the barriers set up by the brief understanding of what was real and what wasn't right after today's episode. Now Peeta was back to normal. Normal. This is what it was for him now and accepting it will help me learn how to help him. This thought is funny to me, since my days are filled with as much helplessness as his. Even so, my gut feeling tells me I have to find ways to get through to him if I am to make progress as well. No matter what happens to us, we protect each other. Now, just as much as before.

I clean up the rest of his kitchen and I feel a bit better. Keeping myself busy was always my answer for dealing with worries and trouble and, under my circumstances, a little work routine should do wonders. I make a mental note to repeat this to myself tomorrow morning, just in case tonight's nightmares attempt to persuade me to waste another day in bed, lingering on my fears and insecurities. When Peeta walks down the stairs, I realize there is only one fear and only one insecurity in my head at the moment, and they amount to the same thing. The fear of watching him slip away from me again, and the uncertainty that he'll never make it back to me. These thoughts make me feel silly and almost childish. Sometimes the memories of the war and the games pound at me, making the feelings I see bubbling back to the surface look small and insignificant next to death, pain, and loss. Almost as if falling in love is an unworthy feeling right now. Bigger things to worry about. Except that I know it's the uncertainty speaking again. The doubt that permeates through me because I fear so much. Why can't I let go of it? Why was I so sure and determined about some things, yet I could never figure out the matters of the heart? The matters of my heart?

"I don't feel like sleeping," Peeta interrupts my thoughts. "Maybe I could work on the garden with you? It's hot and four hands would do the job much faster and get us out from under the sun a lot sooner."

"Sounds good," I tell him.

"And Katniss, could we go back to working on the book?" He asks me.

The book. We only worked on it one day so far and then misery stroke us. Pain forced us away from one thing that could be our salvation. Maybe not so much, but something inside tells me the book will give us some closure. We could heal some wounds. Stitch some scars back up, even if others will look more tender than ever.

"We should do that. You could come over later." I reply.

He nods and grins at me. The unsaid conversation between his smile and his blue eyes as they're staring at me convey so much it almost breaks me. Pain, exhaustion, struggle, confusion, loss, wonder, and comfort. I decide to take comfort as the best I could hope for him on this day. I hope I get there too.

He waves me over before he picks up the bag on the corner of his kitchen filled with gardening tools. It was nice of Haymitch to give his to us, though I have no idea why he had them in the first place. There's so much about him I'd like to know, and so much I'm afraid to uncover.

I trim the bad greens and collect the good ones while Peeta sows the earth and works on the seeds we received from the Capitol. Although he's focused on the task at hand, I am not. I'm more preoccupied with watching him and trying to read his thoughts. Since I can't figure out what's on his mind, I'm satisfied with just watching. His hands look even stronger full of dirt, though the marks left by his own nails are apparent. I like to think Peeta is still as strong as he was before, even if he's not lifting bags of flour everyday anymore, and even if his body was exposed to so much venom and morphling. In fact, I'd think everything he survived only made him stronger than I could ever imagine.

From where I'm sitting, gathering the herbs, I see Haymitch taking care of his geese. I count them silently and see none have died. I don't know why I thought he couldn't manage to keep them alive, especially if he did so well when it came to ensuring Peeta and I would survive. I still don't quite understand why Haymitch chose geese. It's definitely not for the money; we still receive our victor's pay. It's the least they could do, though I feel I could get by without it, even if that meant going back to full-time hunting. Peeta could do well with baking too. I've seen him barter bread for other things around town and I really hope his plans for opening his own bakery work out. Even though I worry the memories of his family's own bakery could be too much for him, I know there are two things that make Peeta look and feel more like himself, baking and painting.

Painting. That reminds me, we should wrap this up soon so we can work on the book. It's been neglected for the past few days and it leads me to think I'm failing at my mission of making their deaths count, of doing their lives some justice. I get up and wipe my dirty hands on my pants, telling myself I should do laundry soon. I can't have Greasy Sae always handling those things for me, I feel like I owe her too much already. Peeta notices me but doesn't stand up. Instead, he sits cross-legged and looks up at my face, sporting a mischievous smile. I feel uncomfortable, as if there are cameras and spotlights at me, though I know it's only his eyes. His deep blue eyes.

"We should go wash the greens," I tell him, hoping to deflect his attention from me.

"The look you have now... it's so familiar," he says while he completely ignores what I just said. I don't know what he's referring to. I'm wearing dirty clothes that don't look like they fit me and my hair is falling over my eyes. I left in such a hurry this morning I forgot to place it in a braid. Before I try to get his attention back to my suggestion about the herbs, he continues.

"Your face is dirty, there's sweat over your brow. Your hands look rough, though I know they feel soft to the touch. And your eyes are reflecting the light and the heat of a sunny day," he tells me, following it with a deep breath.

"And how is that familiar?" I'm curious.

"The times you sold squirrels to my father. You were always dirty, sweaty, and tired," he points out. I give him a disappointed look. Being called dirty, sweaty, and tired aren't exactly flattering things. He picks up on this, because he shakes his head before qualifying his thoughts. "It's okay though. I liked that look because it confirmed what I already knew: you were different, you were a fighter. I always believed in you, Katniss. You can do anything you set out to do."

Normally, I would object to anyone saying that. I'd reply saying I'm no good. But this is Peeta, and although I didn't realize this for a long a time, he knows me well, maybe better than anybody else in my life. By having watched me from a distance, Peeta can offer me a perspective I could never get by myself. And the fact he believes in me reminds me not everything is lost. Just like the way he pushed me to survive in the arena, he seems to be pushing me to move on now. Maybe I really can do this. The fact he's still smiling tells me that maybe I can do this with him. And just like that, I'm back to the world inside my mind where Peeta can love me again, holding the key for things to get better. The push I need to survive again. I can't believe this boy, who just this morning was struggling with his own issues, still has the strength to transform my days. When he finally stands up and takes my hand, I follow him, holding his hand as tight as I can. Almost afraid losing their grip would mean losing my grip on reality as well.

We clean up the greens and head to my house. Neither of us has been productive, so there isn't much food in the fridge and the sound our stomachs make reminds me we haven't eaten all day. I'm relieved when I find a box with butter cookies from the Capitol. I forgot Cressida had sent these for my birthday. They taste delicious with Effie's jams and we drink some milk with it on my kitchen floor. Somehow, today's events make us connect as if we were back in the arena, fighting for each other's safety and supporting one another to move forward. So sitting at a table just wouldn't make sense. We're satisfied with our impromptu picnic on the cold tiles.

Later, I wash my hands and retrieve the book. I realize I didn't write anything on the pages corresponding to the drawings Peeta made the last time. There's Prim, shining and beautiful, perfectly portrayed by Peeta. The blank page next to it just looks so wrong. I know what to do and take a sharp pencil.  _Then, in my most careful handwriting, come all the details it would be a crime to forget._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_Lady licking Prim's cheek_. I still wonder what happened to her and even thought about trying to get another goat the other day. It would be pointless, though. Lady was a gift for Prim that was also meant as an investment, so we wouldn't starve. Without Prim, and with my victor's pay, I wouldn't know what to do with a goat. Still, it makes me think of Haymitch and his geese. There could a purpose in an activity like that.

While Peeta carefully attaches a photo of my father to a piece of parchment, I try my best to describe him.  _My father's laugh_. That's what comes to me first, then his singing voice, and his calm manner the day he taught me how to swim. I miss him and the uncomplicated way I viewed our lives when he was still alive. Not that I didn't feel the oppression like everyone else. I was a child, but I could still see through it all. It's just that it's easier to focus on the good things in life when it's somebody else who's carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. Gale once said that my father's death and the threat of starvation hovering over us transformed me into a but of pessimistic person, dangerously close to a conformist, though I don't know how he could make such an observation if he never knew me before our paths crossed after the mine explosion. All I know is that I had no reason to have a negative or positive view of anything. I was simply no idealist like Gale, it was necessity that brought out the fighter in me. I guess that explains why he's out there rebuilding the country and immersing himself in military strategy, and I'm here, unable to focus. Trying to find a way to unload the burden made of loss and scars.

There was a time when considering a world inhabited by both Peeta and Gale made no sense to me. Now I realize much has changed, as I watch Peeta go through pencil colours even though conversations Gale and I had resonate in my mind. Maybe because Gale was by my side once, but Peeta is by my side now. Even so, I know this isn't the only reason. I used to have to exclude one from my life in order to reach out to the other. This time, it was Gale who excluded himself and I'm curious about whether the boy who was once my best friend is still there, inside of that shell, somehow. It doesn't matter. Some deeds can't be undone. Perhaps, this time, it's not my choice to make. Or it is and I'll never be able to deal with it.

The truth is I could choose Peeta and lose him anyway. His revelation to me the other day tells me he's better, that he's coming back. Whether he's coming back to me, that's another matter altogether. I'm watching his blue eyes staring firmly at the parchment as it transforms in a beautiful rendition of Finnick and his trident. It's so truthful to his likeness that Finnick himself would have approved of it. The more I knew him, the more I realized his looks didn't matter that much to him. Well, they still mattered to some extent. So I guess he would have been proud of the way Peeta's drawn his tan strands of hair falling on his face while the ocean stars as the perfect background.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts. My effort to stand up to open it is useless, since Haymitch waits for no one.

"I thought you'd be up," he tells me while his eyes drift to Peeta on the living room floor. "You too."

"Evening, Haymitch," Peeta says without lifting his eyes off his drawing.

"I got this today and it fazes me why she'd address it to me." He hands me a package and based on the handwriting alone, I can tell it's from Effie.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I don't know, sweetheart. Isn't it obvious I haven't opened it?" He seems annoyed and more concerned with keeping his eyes glued on Peeta than with finding out about the contents of the box.

I'm not sure why Effie would send Haymitch something either. It's true they worked together for a long time. It's also true neither seemed happy with their job. Haymitch, for obvious reasons. Effie, because she wanted to chaperon a better district. Regardless, I'm under the impression that they don't exactly hate each other and sometimes I think there's more to it than what I've seen. I make a mental note to ask Peeta about this later while I open the box.

"Haymitch, I don't think she addressed it wrong," I say. There's a bottle of a red liquor inside that looks like wine to me. And a card. Peeta finally stops what he was doing to examine the contents. His blue eyes meet mine and I suspect we're wondering the same thing. What's written on the card.

"So did you two fight or something and this is her way of saying I'm sorry?" Peeta teases him. Haymitch frowns, though it's clear the bottle sparked his interest. He grabs it and sprints towards the kitchen, but leaves the card in the box.

"You're forgetting the card, Haymitch," I tell him.

"You can just throw it away," he says while fumbling through the drawers in search of a bottle opener.

"But what about your manners?" Peeta teases again, letting out a crooked smile. I can tell he's bracing himself for whatever Haymitch will say next, knowing it will come with a dose of bad-temper. We wait for it, though Haymitch only sits and takes sip off the bottle.

"The good stuff," he raises his glass after pouring a good amount of wine into it. I have a bad feeling about this and want to hide the rest of the liquor. I'm bothered by the fact Effie's the one who sent it when she clearly hated Haymitch's drunken stunts.

"Maybe she wants to punish us," Peeta whispers, reading my thoughts. He takes the card from the box and takes a seat next to Haymitch at the kitchen table. I follow him and take a moment to consider the three of us. Haymitch is wearing clean clothes and looks to have gotten a haircut. His skin carries a light warm hue, from raising the geese under the sun, I guess. And although he's drinking wine, he doesn't smell too bad. To be honest, he probably looks better than Peeta or me and the thought of it disturbs me a little.

While I observed us, the two of them must have gone through a telepathic conversation because the next thing I see is Peeta turning on the fire on the stove and burning the card. Then they nod at each other. Whatever was on that card, I have a feeling Peeta knew about it. We're sitting in silence for about ten minutes, until Peeta interrupts the quiet.

"I think I should go home, bake something," he says.

"I'm going too. I wouldn't mind some bread in the morning, though." Haymitch says while collecting his bottle and cork. He leaves right away, but only after exchanging another odd look with Peeta. This time it really bothers me. Their silent agreements behind my back were made like this.

"What's with you two?" I ask Peeta. It's meant to sound nonchalant, but it comes out like an angry interrogation.

"Nothing. Guy stuff." He gets up to leave, though he hesitates a bit. He looks around the kitchen and, when he turns to the kitchen door, his eyes find the parchment on the living room. Buttercup is sitting right next to it, almost as if examining Prim's drawing. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's what he's doing.

"Don't you want to work some more on the book?" I suggest.

"Maybe another time. I'm getting tired, I'm not even sure I can drag myself all the way to my house. It's been a long day." I should let him go, but all I can think is how his words could be hinting that he'd like to stay over. It's just my imagination, because he says goodnight and walks out. I collect the pencils and parchment and put them away on the side table. I sit on the sofa and stretch my legs. Alone again, I think. I don't know why I supposed that working on the book late at night would end up with Peeta staying over again. I take back the parchment with Prim's drawing and what follows is a night of more sobbing than nightmares. Probably because there was a lot more crying than sleeping.

When I wake up again it's late morning and I feel disgusting. I walk upstairs for a short shower that changes into a long shower that changes into soaking in a bathtub half filled with water and half filled with tears. It could be my whole day if I didn't find the locket Prim made for me in the closet, next to my hunting jacket. I wipe my tears away and decide to hunt. After all, it's what I do best when the world comes crashing down.

I make my way downstairs and look for Buttercup. His milk bowl is empty and I fill it up, though he doesn't come. I whistle to call him over, but nothing. Stupid cat. This is no time for hide and seek. Even so, after seeing his sad eyes stare at Prim's sketch last night I feel a bit responsible for him. I go back upstairs, hoping to find him in Prim's bed and although it hurts to open that door, I do it just to find the room completely empty. The way it will always be from now on.

After inspecting the house for about one hour, from attic to basement, I reckon I should gather a search party. Knowing that cat, he could be miles on the way to District 13 by now. I try Peeta first. Partly because he was the last one to open a door at my house, partly because I have an urge to see him.

"Just come in," I can hear Peeta say from his kitchen. I find him half-covered in flour and half-covered in oven dust.

"What happened? It looks like you've been in a baking battle." I get a brief smirk out of him, enough for me to capture his attention. "Sorry, I need a new oven. How are you?" he says wiping his forehead with a towel.

I tell him I can't find Buttercup and it's the first time he's gone missing after he came back. Peeta frowns and shrugs.

"I guess I thought he followed you here last night. After you decided to go home," I try not to sound resentful but I do. I thought he was going to stay over again, though I can't blame him for leaving. I'm not always the best company one can have, though I understand yesterday was a hard day for Peeta. He pretends he didn't catch my last words and just motions for us to leave the house and look outside. I don't know why I'm so worried about that stupid cat but I can see now there's a storm coming and if something happens to him I think Prim would not forgive me. Prim. I feel a weight in my stomach but try to ignore it. I am on a mission right now. Peeta walks ahead of me as we survey the Victor's Village. Nothing.

"Katniss, I have to go back. I have an appointment with Dr. Aurelius in a few minutes," Peeta says when we make our way back to the front of his house.

"Okay. I have to keep looking though."

"All right. But don't worry. I'm sure he's fine." He kisses my forehead and walks inside. I'm paralysed for a few seconds, no longer used to displays of affection like these coming from Peeta. Thunder brings me back to reality, so I shake Peeta off my mind and turn on my heels towards town. My plan is to go by Greasy Sae's first. She's become a usual visitor, so it's quite possible Buttercup could have gone after her. Especially since she always smells of food.

I find Greasy Sae alone with her granddaughter. Whatever she's cooking smells delicious and it reminds me that I left home without eating anything. She tries to feed me breakfast, but the lightning outside gives me a sense of urgency. The sky that looked slightly grey earlier has turned almost charcoal. My next guess is to go back to our old house, even if it's not there anymore. With demolition completed, the Seam is nothing but an open field. I focus on the trees when I get there, but I am out of luck. Drops of water begin falling so hard, they'd hurt my skin if it wasn't for my jacket.

"Buttercup, where are you? Buttercup?" I call for him, but there's not a soul in sight. I walk towards the fence. Could it be? I look up to the three from which I fell and hurt myself shortly after Gale's whipping. I've seen Buttercup climb it before, though its only inhabitant is a scarred but lucky squirrel. If I had my bow and arrows, he'd be dinner.

I call for Buttercup again. Then again. As the rain gets heavier, I start screaming his name. The raindrops make it hard to see and hear. It's pointless to keep looking, but I can't turn away. I continue my search towards the Justice Building. The rain is cold and now that my jacket is drenched, I'm shivering.

"Buttercup! You stupid cat, where are you?"

I'm in a daze. I can't see anything beyond a foot away from me anymore and the storm is the only sound in my ears. I'm screaming for Buttercup when I see a blur in the distance. It looks so... familiar. Her blonde hair drips down as she twirls on her feet. It's gone as soon as I blink. I'm pushing through the heavy rain, chasing the blur. I don't know where it went, but I must find it. I'm running as the cold water hugs me, encloses me. My foot catches on something and I hit the ground, face down. The pain in my chin is immediate and my instinct is to turn around on my back. Only the rain is falling directly on my face now and I can't breathe.

"Prim!" I scream with the last breath of me. Nothing. "Prim." This time I whisper. My tears join the rain. She's gone and I'm going to lie here forever.

I turn to my side and let the rain penetrate my clothes, hoping it can pierce through my skin and wash me away with the dirt. My hiccups make me gasp for air, though I don't want to. Breathing hurts. I can't anymore. I can't anymore.

"Katniss!"

Someone is shouting my name. I should answer back. But I can't anymore.

"Katniss!"

I open my eyes to meet his blue ones. Little drops of rain stuck in his eyelashes. Peeta lifts me up in his arms and carries me home. My head on his chest adds one more sound to the thundering storm. His heartbeat is strong and steady.

"I can't anymore," I tell him.

"You can. I'm here," he assures me.

I must have drifted in and out of consciousness, because I barely remember being put in my bed. I'm lying on a pile of towels, with a few blankets over me. I'm not wearing my hunting jacket and I find it hanging from the chair where Peeta's sitting, watching over me. His eyes meet mine and he finds room next to me. My head hurts and my eyes are heavy.

"I'm cold," I mutter, and Peeta comes closer under the blankets. His clothes are still wet, but his skin is warm to the touch. It's like we're sharing a sleeping bag again in the cave while the rain falls mercilessly. I must have been talking to Peeta in my sleep, because I hear his voice in my ears as if there was still morphling in my blood.

"Always," he whispers. The storm subsides. I can't tell if I'm dreaming or awake. And I honestly forget if that even matters in my mind's fragile state.

In the morning, I'm alone in bed. I look for signs of Peeta in my room and conclude I dreamed it all when I find none. Except there's noise coming from downstairs. I come down a few steps, just enough to peak into the kitchen. Peeta's cooking and there's fresh bread on the table. The same table where Buttercup sits watching Peeta the same way he watches television. Puzzled, I walk in and take a seat, letting Peeta pour tea in my mug and place a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me.

"You stayed," I comment. It's the only coherent thought in my head. Peeta just smiles, knowing he already gave me the answer.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

I am hungry. No, I am starving. I realize, now, I didn’t eat at all yesterday. From looking for Buttercup, to breaking down in the storm, my body was exhausted. No wonder it seems to me I slept for almost a day. I’m so famished I could eat a piece of cardboard, though I’m lucky Peeta knows how to cook and I’m done with my eggs in a minute.

“Somebody was hungry,” he says after a sip of tea.

“Thanks for the food. And, yesterday.” I tell him, though I don’t dare look up. A feeling of embarrassment has taken over me. Peeta has seen me at my worst, but I hoped he wouldn’t have to see me like that again. And honestly, I hoped I wouldn’t ever see myself like that again either.

“It’s not a problem. It’s what you and I do, right?” And he winked.

I’m still confused about the time lapse and how on earth he found Buttercup. I take a piece of bread and ask him, trying to sound less clueless about yesterday’s events than I am now.

“I was talking to Dr. Aurelius, we were barely five minutes into my session when the line went mute. I hung up and tried again, but nothing. I suspect now it was the weather, terrible lightning. I sat for a while, trying to figure out what to do instead when I heard a few drops of rain turn into a torrent of water. I had hoped you would return home, but you didn’t.”

So he came to my rescue. I wanted to say something, but since I couldn’t think of anything, I just drank my tea while I gathered my thoughts. He’s watching me patiently, almost as if waiting for an explanation. Eager to know why I was lying in the rain, weak and a little lost. When I go for the bread again, he shrugs. I thought I was learning to open up, but some bruises hurt deeper out loud.

“Oh, and Haymitch found Buttercup,” he says, suddenly remember the cat was the reason I was out in the rain in the first place.

“Haymitch did?” I ask.

“Yes. Funny story, actually. Haymitch went outside to usher the geese into the pen before the storm and he found Buttercup stuck in a bush, hiding away from the geese as they made a fuss about the new visitor. I guess more like an intruder, from the geese’s point of view.”

I give Buttercup a dirty look for running away and he just hisses at me. I hiss back, as per tradition, and he jumps off the table, running into the hall.

“Haymitch brought him back last night,” he continues. “But I didn’t want to wake you up, you were sleeping so peacefully. I know how rare that is when it comes to us...” He takes a deep breath and rests his head on his hands. 

“Are you okay?” I ask, suddenly forgetting my worries and absorbing his. He doesn’t answer, and simply takes another deep breath. “Peeta, maybe you should get some rest.”

He looks up, letting out a hint of a sad smile. “I’m not familiar with that concept anymore,” he mutters and I finally notice how much darker the bags under his eyes have become.

“What about your sleeping pills?” Those are staples for the both of us, though my negligence with time and medicine is clear given the state of my stash, almost untouched in the bathroom cabinet.

“Dr. Aurelius took me off them, too many chemicals in my brain, he says. He’s probably right, I was becoming a bit addicted as you can see from my complete inability to sleep without them lately.” Peeta pours more hot water in his tea and I’m not sure he should. The caffeine will only keep him more awake.

“Maybe you should stop with the tea. Or find some without caffeine,” I suggest.

“It’s fine. I want to be awake. Especially now.”

 _Especially now_ , I repeat silently to myself. I can’t deny the old Peeta was enigmatic at times, but this, this is meant to send my thoughts in a downward spiral, hanging on to each word as I search for the true meaning behind them. He smiles and I realize it has nothing to do with the idea of an old Peeta or a new one. They’re the same and he’s well aware of how he’s playing with my head. I wonder if he slept last night at all. I’m torn between the possibility he stayed up simply to protect me, and my deep wish he just wanted to hang on to reality. One packed with images of me in his arms.

“What do you mean by especially now?” I give up and ask, still too tired to figure things out by myself.

“I’m doing okay, Katniss. I can’t sleep and, when I do, nightmares chase me all the way, but I’m doing okay. That last flashback, I don’t know, something changed. Does that make sense?”

“I’d like to believe so. And I’m happy you’re better, one of us should be,” I say and immediately regret it. I don’t want to make this about myself, but I have a slight feeling something changed yesterday too, though I can’t put my finger on it just yet. Realizing he just deflected my question, I steer him back into it.

“Right. It might sound silly, but I’m afraid I’ll sleep and when I wake up all the blur and shiny memories will be back and this growing sense of certainty will slip away,” he answers. I think he’s done and I can’t help the disappointing feeling in my stomach that I have nothing to do with it, even though I reckon there’s no reason for me to have anything to do with it in the first place. Except he’s not done. He finishes his second cup of tea, and tells me, almost knocking me off my chair. “Holding you last night, Katniss, felt right. I didn’t think, not even for a second, of hurting or you hurting me. It was the absolute opposite. And I’m not ready to let go of that feeling. So, if need be, I’ll accept insomnia as an old friend.”

The truth is I should say something, but Peeta knows better than to expect me to have an appropriate reaction to his words. He just smiles and reaches over, gently kissing my hand, before he collects the plates and rinses them off. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to let go. I’ll stay up with him, and eventually we’ll learn to have good nights of sleep again. But I know it’d be crazy to make such promises, particularly now, when that vision of Prim remains stuck to brain. I thought she was going to say something, and then she disappeared. I don’t tell Peeta about this when I join him by the sink. In fact, I remind myself not to tell anyone about it. If Dr. Aurelius receives word of it, I’ll surely be dragged into the next train to the Capitol and labelled as a mad person. Poor Annie, I wonder if that’s how it started for her; if she sees Finnick in the rain too. One single tear falls from my eye. And here I was thinking that after yesterday, I’d have none left to spare.

I turn off the tap and hug Peeta, who’s taken aback by my action. He doesn’t ask anything though, and just holds me back. His warm breath on my neck, his strong hands on the small of my back. The only thing keeping me from falling apart.

“Katniss...” he whispers. It’s truly the closest I’ve felt emotionally to him since the beach in the arena. I cherish the closeness, though my fear of letting myself go takes over. I’m still afraid of the unknown surrounding Peeta and me. The more I want to push in, the more I feel I should pull out. After a minute, my instincts are my defences and they speak for me.

“The book,” I say, breaking apart.

“Do you want to work on it?” he asks, seemingly unaware of how flustered I am. I nod and we walk to the living room. Everything’s still where we left it when Haymitch came over, and while Peeta resumes his work on Finnick’s picture, I do my best at my descriptive duties. I take the picture of his family, the one he drew just a while ago, and write what I can from memory, asking Peeta if there’s anything he’d like to include every now and then. He talks about his brothers’ and their sense of humour. I add about _Peeta’s father with the cookies_. He doesn’t seem to have much to say about his mother and I strangely relate to it. He catches up on it, based on his next words to me.

“You should call your mother, Katniss.” He advises while he scrabbles through pencils.

“We don’t have much to say.” It’s the truth, although now I understand her own withdrawal and I’m positive I love her.

“Still. Better that than having something to say and not being able to call her.” Peeta says, a hint of sad realization in his voice. I’m stricken with guilt and make a mental note to call my mother this week.

We have a productive day when it comes to the book. Peeta draws and paints a picture, while I write a description for the one he just finished. We take small breaks to eat, given that he did bake a small feast the previous day and I’ll never learn to refuse cheese buns. Especially after he surprises me with a can of lamb stew, which arrived in his last order of supplies from the Capitol. The sun begins to move west and we’re tired. A small pile of finished pages sits on the coffee table, as detailed as we could make them. _The colour of Finnick’s eyes. What Cinna could do with a length of silk. Boggs reprogramming the Holo. Rue poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight. On and on. We seal the pages with salt water and promises to live well to make their deaths count. _ Maybe that’s what Prim was trying to tell me yesterday. As I look at the partial reflection of Peeta and me on the mirror hung above the mantel, I conclude it’s the right thing to do. I believe the pain will never truly leave but we were strong for them once in a fight we never knew we could win, and now we must be strong again.

“Do you want to go for walk?” I ask Peeta. I know he’s tired, but I suggest it anyway.

“Okay. Let me just freshen up first.” He gets up and comes back in a few minutes, his face refreshed and his hair damp. We walk through Victor’s Village. It’s not as empty as it used to be, our new neighbours consist of Thom and his family, and an older couple from the Seam. There are also two houses allocated for the construction crew, but they come and go all the time, and I’m not entirely sure they’ll stay after the District is rebuilt. Peeta notices me watching the houses and halts his stride.

“I think Delly is moving here,” he says.

“That’s nice, is she still in District 13?” I ask.

“Yes, she is. She misses it over here, but it’s hard to return without any firm job opportunities yet.”

He’s right. Aside from construction work and the little market we have, consisting mostly of barter, there isn’t much to do in terms of work here.

“Haymitch mentioned plans for a factory to make medicine, maybe she can work there,” I say.

“I think so. Or she might study before, I don’t know. Dr. Aurelius has taken a special interest in her, did I tell you that? Because of how she helped me remember. He thinks she could do well in mental care.”

I don’t doubt it. Delly is so cheerful it’s hard to be depressed for long next to her, and she did really well with Peeta as a challenge. She’s nice, though I feel a small pang of jealousy whenever Peeta brings her up. I know it’s irrational and they knew each other as children, but I can’t help it and feel like changing the subject.

Yesterday’s storm led to a cool night, but today’s been hot and the humidity sticks to my skin. “How tired are you? Is your leg all right?” I ask Peeta.

“I’m fine, the caffeine is doing its wonders. Why?” He scratches his head, a hint of a smile on his face.

“I want to go somewhere, do you want to join me?”

“Now?” He’s puzzled. I don’t go many places besides my house, his house, or Haymitch’s.

“Yes, before the sun sets completely. I just have to stop by my house first,” I say. He follows me while I grab my bow and arrows and stick a few other things in my hunting bag. It’s clear where we’re going, and he doesn’t protest. He was the one to suggest on my birthday that we’d go there for a picnic, so I make sure to take some cheese from the fridge and a few slices of bread.

We walk to the woods with a small sense of rush. Lately, the sun won’t set until much later, still I want to enjoy every bit of sunlight. We don’t say much along the way, except for Peeta’s brief comments about the trees and the colours of the flowers. The rest of the time I just feel his eyes fixed on me, piercing through my skin. Our way is farther than he expected and I notice his limp, though he assures me it’s nothing. The terrain is steeper here, which makes Peeta’s steps sound even louder than usual. What a lousy hunting partner he’d be. It doesn’t matter, because I’m not looking for one right now.

When we make it to the lake, Peeta stops suddenly, examining his surroundings. He knows what I’m up to, and I know he’ll take some convincing. I hope the scorching sun and the sweat dripping through our skins are enough arguments. “I’m not getting in,” he says. His arms are crossed and he repositions his legs on the ground, signalling he won’t move.

“But I taught you how to swim,” I tell him. His look is the same every time he’s about to ask whether something’s real or not real, but I continue before he asks the question. “Well, sort of. The flotation belt in the arena helped you a bit. How about we try again now?”

I hadn’t realized until now how much trust this will require from the boy who once thought I was out to kill him. My next instinct is to apologize and suggest we just eat by the water instead, when I see him take his boots off. Then his socks. He takes a few steps towards the water, and stops right before the water level reaches his knees. He laughs. “It’s a funny feeling. Both legs in the lake, and only one tells me the water is actually wet.” Then he gives his prosthetic two little knocks and walks further in. But not before he takes his shirt off and tosses it on the grass.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment if you can, they're really helpful to help me work out the story and for motivation purposes too :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

This is the first time I can see the scars on Peeta's torso. They are more widespread than mine, though the pink skin stuff seems to have worked better on him than on me. He looks more bruised and less like a piece of patchwork. It's even less noticeable when I consider how strong he still is. Even though the fact that he's standing in the water, partly exposed to me, tells me there's nothing wrong in my own patched skin, I remove my shoes but keep everything else on. He didn't mind me seeing him in our first games, he obviously doesn't mind now. Not me. It seems I'm not afraid of dying, only closeness. So I keep my layers on.

The water is cold, but the appropriate temperature for a hot day. I walk towards Peeta while he moves around on his axis, jumping every now and then, so childlike. I dive in from behind him and emerge several feet away.

"Now you're bragging. Remind me how that's supposed to help me learn?" He shouts.

"Just pretend you're wearing the floating belt and make your way here," I shout back. He doesn't move and though I can't see his face very well from here, I can tell he's rolling his eyes at me. I swim back and ask him to meet me halfway. It's not very deep where I am and I can easily catch him if he starts sinking.

"Okay," he says timidly. He moves one arm after the other and I can only imagine how hard this must be with the prosthetic, though I know he can do this. Peeta can do so much. "Look, I'm not touching the ground and I'm not sinking either." And just like that he loses his focus and sinks down. I swim rapidly towards him and catch him before he swallows any water.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "can we take a break before continuing?"

"Of course, is it your leg?" I ask concerned.

"Not the prosthetic, the other one. It's cramping."

I swim towards shallow ground, dragging him with my left arm, until he can walk out by himself. We get out of the water and sit on a towel I brought in my bag. I squeeze the water from my braid while Peeta shakes his head from side to side, sprinkling every water drop from his hair onto me.

"Can you set up the food on the towel?" I ask him, giving him my hunting bag, while I get up.

"Where are you going? Can I come?"

"Just wait here and make sure the birds don't eat our bread," I tell him and walk away. I find some blackberries and even a few small strawberries in the bush that supplied me with strawberries for Madge and the Mayor. When I return, I ask Peeta to remind me to include her family in the book. She was my friend, even though it took me long to figure that out.

"I wish I could hunt with you," he says.

"Why? I barely hunt lately. Still trying to find my away back here. Too many memories."

"Exactly," he tells me. His eyes on the ground. "Memories of Gale, I suppose."

"No, not him," I lie. "Mostly my father and my childhood. We had to grow up so fast."

"I don't mind. I never felt much like a child, too many grown up thoughts in my head. When my mother would tell me to bake something, I'd do it thinking of the day I'd be the one running the bakery. I watched my father do accounting every now and then, and, sometimes, he would let me stay up late with him while he made a list of supplies." He sighs. I think every conversation we'll have for the rest of our lives will be like this. A mix of nostalgia, pain, and now I know, acceptance.

"I think I was eight when I told him I was going to marry you. He laughed and asked me how I knew that. I said I was going to learn how to sing and you'd fall in love with me just like your mother fell for your father." He takes a deep breath and tucks some hair away from his eyes. "I guess that plan was doomed from the beginning, I can't sing for my life."

"I never heard you sing," I say, declining to comment on everything else he said.

"Oh, there's a reason why," he jokes and takes a bite out of the cheese. "I mean, I had to have at least one flaw."

"You're sounding like Finnick," I tell him, well-aware that bringing a lost friend in this conversation might be a bad idea, but Peeta still takes it in good humour.

"He couldn't sing either. Proof that no one's perfect. Except, maybe, you." He stutters the last words and the idea that Peeta may be flirting with me scares me a little, even though, deep inside, I've longed to hear such things again. Especially now, when I look like this, a fire mutt. I decide he's kidding again and focus on my berries to prevent myself from blushing. It's a wasted effort, because I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. I know he noticed it, though he just smiles and looks away into the sun, finally setting. He closes his eyes and keeps them closed for a good minute until he says, "I should come out here to paint, I think that'd be good for me."

"You should," I agree.

"Will you come with me?" he asks me. I nod.

"Sounds like a plan," he gets up and runs to the water again, still making sure to stay in the shallow part. "Are you coming?" I run after and join him in the lake. I dive and he floats around. Two children who grew up too fast.

The next day we come back again, this time with Peeta's canvas and painting supplies. With each stroke the woods come to life and the lake's surface reflects the beautiful sunlight breaking through the clouds. We repeat this routine religiously for a week. Somedays he paints while I hunt, though I'm reluctant to leave him alone until he reminds me he survived the Hunger Games. I leave him a knife, just in case.

Our daily ritual is interrupted by more rain, the type that doesn't leave until every inch of earth has satisfied its thirst. Peeta comes over with bread anyway, and then teaches Greasy Sae's granddaughter how to paint while she's busy in the kitchen.

"She doesn't have much company," she says about the girl, "that's why she loves coming here. But I have a feeling you don't need me as much anymore." While Greasy Sae would come over everyday after I returned to District 12, now she has limited her visits to once or twice a week. Making sure there's food in the fridge, clean clothes in the closet, and that I'm not falling apart.

"I guess things are a little better, but you can still come anytime," I tell her, watching Peeta patiently explain the difference in brush strokes. He'll be a good father someday, I think, and my mind travels to our pretend baby before the Quell. Somehow, it seems like a lifetime ago. Perhaps, it was.

Bang, I hear. Haymitch pounds the front door and walks into the kitchen, exasperated, and takes a seat. "I can't take this anymore," he says and takes a sip of a small silver flask.

Peeta walks over. "What can't you take anymore? Don't tell me the geese..."

"Oh, the geese are fine. The geese are superb. The geese know to behave the way every human being should: as if they're not there." He takes a deep breath. I open my mouth to ask him what's really going on, and partly to protest by arguing that banging my door goes against his own theory of human behaviour, when I meet Peeta's eyes, telling me to keep quiet.

"Why don't we go for a walk, Haymitch?" Peeta suggests.

"I don't want a walk. I want her to stop being so incredibly annoying, or to be whatever she wants to be far away from here. That double-crosser."

"Okay, what exactly is the problem here?" The idea of Peeta and Haymitch hiding things from me again is the only incredibly annoying thing in the room right now.

"Effie." Peeta says and then mouths, "I'll explain later," while he drags Haymitch over to his house.

Greasy Sae, seemingly unbothered by the commotion, finishes the laundry and tells me she'll be back by the end of the week. I don't mind her coming over, though sometimes I feel she's obliged to do it. In any case, whatever Dr. Aurelius is paying her must be handy for her. It's late afternoon and Peeta hasn't come back, so I walk over to his house. Haymitch is asleep on the sofa, one leg on the floor, the other on top of green velvet cushions. Peeta's on the armchair, taking notes on his recipe book when he sees me. He places his index finger in front of his mouth, signalling to keep quiet, and ushers me upstairs. In a few seconds I'm standing in Peeta Mellark's bedroom, utterly uncomfortable, though he's been in mine so many times I've lost count. He takes a seat on his bed, and unlike my bedroom, he doesn't have a spare chair. I wobble on my feet, deciding whether to stand or follow him, until he motions for me to sit beside him.

"So what does Effie have to do with Haymitch's crazy state?" I ask him.

"It's a long story, so I'll try to make it short. Basically, Plutarch wanted to produce a special on the rebuilding of District 12. Yes, I know, there's not much rebuilding yet, but it's Plutarch. Who knows what he's actually thinking? Anyway, he wanted the three of us to feature in it, especially since we're the district that still has the most victors left. Of course, Haymitch protested. The deal was we'd be left alone, but then again, it's Plutarch." He almost whispers, still afraid Haymitch will be suddenly awaken by his words.

"I still don't get it," I say.

"I'm not there yet, patience, grasshopper." He smiles and the light from the window reflected in his eyes leaves me slightly mesmerized. I shake it off and continue to listen. "The other side of the story consists of Effie and Haymitch becoming, how do I put this? Friends. For the lack of a better word. I guess distance makes the heart grow fonder? Whatever it is, they didn't seem to hate each other as much after the rebellion. I swear to you that, when you were still recovering, I saw the two of them having dinner together. And by together I really mean together, just the two of them, in that maze of a mansion that was Snow's house. Now, if you put the two stories together, you realize that..." He waits for me to finish. I don't know if I'm still distracted by his eyes, because it takes me a few seconds to actually clue in to what happened.

"Plutarch is trying to send Effie to do his dirty work," I guess.

"Exactly. Do you know how many times I heard the word betrayal before Haymitch finally passed out? I'm still quite sure I don't have the whole picture of what those two were up to, because, let me tell you, it was intense. I thought he was going to break things."

"So the wine, the other night."

"I suspect she was trying to sway him over, and based on something he murmured as he fell asleep, even come over here with the crew. I don't know, Katniss. He's really upset. I haven't seen him this upset in a long time."

Me neither. It takes very little to tick Haymitch off, but a lot more to mess with his mind. Particularly given how much the Capitol messed up with it already.

"Haymitch and Effie... who would have seen that coming?" I say.

"Nobody, and obviously you still haven't. If he finds out we had this conversation, he'll kill me," he warns me.

"The both of you are always keeping secrets from me," I complain, my voice registering a hint of irritation.

"Just the matters of the heart," he winks and is out the door, leaving me alone on his bed, unsure of what to take from the complexity that his words imply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As promised, I tried to get Chapter 13 out to you guys a bit faster. I think this fanfiction will have about 20 chapters, so we're almost there. Thank you for taking on this journey with me, you are all great and I love your reviews.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

I go to bed early, leaving Peeta to take care of Haymitch. He was still passed out on the sofa when I left and the thought of dealing with a hungover Haymitch sent me home. I meant to stay longer, the whimsical look on Peeta's face pushing me in, making me eager to dive into his mind. His eyes look more like the eyes that ran away from mine at school when we were kids. So cryptic, I used to rely on Peeta's shameless ability to tell me what he was thinking, especially when I was at the centre of his thoughts. Not now, though. He either forgot I'm not as much of a mind reader as he is, or he's doing it on purpose. I couldn't possibly make this comparison without guilt, never having experienced it like he did, but deep down what he's doing to me feels dangerously close to torture.

I blame it on our last trip to the woods before the rain. Our clothes wet with sweat and I was so thirsty. My plan was to collect some berries first, and then sit under a tall tree. Peeta had something else entirely in mind, as he only waited for me to drop my bow and arrows to lift me up in the air, bringing us both into the water. We splashed in with full force, and he couldn't stop laughing. He mastered swimming during the previous days and he wasn't about to let anything get in the way of his enjoyment. That's when it hit me, and I found myself at the beach from the Quarter Quell again, holding on to each other as if it was our last day. My scars reminded me that I was not in the arena. I was just rediscovering a lost feeling, one I buried so deep the first time he looked at me and I found fear, not love, in his eyes. He held me tight in the lake water for a split-second, and I thought he was going to kiss me, his lips so close to mine.

"I got you! And you said you wouldn't swim today, just hunt..." He whispered instead, carrying a wide smile across his face, and dove to his left. I found relief and longing battling for control inside of me. We were so close and I flushed, suddenly aware that there were only two layers between us. Why did he have to let go?

Now, lying quietly in my bed, I replay the conversation Gale and Peeta had at the end of the mission, as I eavesdropped on them. It seems like a lifetime has passed between that night in a basement and this hot one with only the cool breeze from the window as my company. You'd think they were friends if it wasn't for me, if the pressing topic of conversation wasn't how I'd choose between them. If I hadn't kissed one only to later kiss the other. No wonder Peeta couldn't figure me out while he recovered in District 13. I couldn't figure me out either - I still can't. To deny I miss Gale would be a poor lie, though I accept our fate. We'd probably be married, if it weren't for the reaping. Such a thought is ludicrous today. I changed, he changed, we both lost too much. Still, Peeta, whose brain was Snow's playground, appears to be more and more the same with each rising sun. Except, I'm not entirely sure about his feelings. Have they made a comeback? If only his eyes spoke to me the same way his voice echoes in my head. It's pointless to search myself for clues. He's the one holding them from me. So I lie in bed and close my eyes, wondering what nightmares patiently wait for me. I know he does the same, a few yards away, in his own bed. It feels so wrong.

I wake up with the sun to hunt, glad the rain is gone, and the heat is slightly milder today. I notice the lights are on at Peeta's. I hope they're not left over from a tough night of flashbacks, but because he just woke up, hoping to get his baking out of the way. He trades his bread with the few people who have returned, though most of the time he gives them away to feed the construction crew. The district is still silent when I cross the fence, and I wonder if they'll ever take it down. It's falling apart on one side I presume Gale or others destroyed when they tried to escape the bombing. From the fence, to the snares I decided to put to good use again, Gale is everywhere in the woods today. He could even be following me and I wouldn't know. The steps of a hunter are so quiet, so in tune with the environment that surrounds us. As I collect a rabbit from one of his old traps, I search for my feelings. Nostalgia will always remain, and I register nothing but it. Even after catching a glimpse of his eyes, when a news team asked him about new hovercraft technology as Sae's granddaughter changed through television channels days ago. I knew remembrance was all we'd have left. My decision to keep his memories locked away vindicated when I heard Peeta call me from the door, reminding me we were late for another picnic, drowning out the television sound.

After two squirrels and a rabbit, I decide to return to town. The train from the Capitol must have arrived already, and I'm waiting for a letter. Our memory book is not quite done yet and I know how hard it is for Peeta to scrabble through his head trying to remember facial characteristics of people he didn't know very well. I told my mother we needed photos and she promised to send me whatever she could find on the next train.

I make it to the station right after it departs again, taking a few members of the construction crew with it, and leaving new ones. Two young women wave at me, and I wave back, though I don't recognize them. It does not matter, because my face is the easiest to place in all of Panem. The face of the rebellion, a Hunger Games victor, everyone knows who I am. A burden I fear I'll always carry, even as I fight to fall back into anonymity. My efforts will be ruined if Plutarch gets his way and ships a television crew to our district. Would they expect me to be a fallen, crazy girl? My trial was televised and, to my luck, Dr. Aurelius painted a picture of a distraught lunatic. Or maybe they'd expect to see me rebuild from ashes, like the District itself. I go over an infinite set of possibilities for what Panem wants from me, and then I realize I'm not the only want they want. Peeta. We're married after all, another one of his lies to protect me that was never unmasked. Just like the baby we never had.

My thoughts escape when I spot Haymitch walking out of the station. He struggles to carry a box, apparently too heavy for one person. I find the envelope I was looking for in the delivery section and rush after him.

"Hi, sweetheart. Give me a hand, will you?" he says, pushing one side of the box onto me. It doesn't weigh as much as I initially thought and I prepare a snarky remark when I notice Haymitch wasn't having as much trouble with the box as he's having walking. Somehow I know I'm helping him carry bottles of liquor. He's flailing back to his old self, and his breath reassures me of it. Before it's too late, I persuade him to make a stop at Peeta's first. "Warm bread and pies, Haymitch. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

I knock at Peeta's door, just to let him know we're coming in, and drop the box in the hallway. Haymitch turns to the kitchen, dragging his feet and taking a sip from his flask. It was a long shot, but I was right. Warm bread, fruit pies, and even something I hadn't seen since I was in the Capitol: cinnamon rolls. I let Haymitch dig in, obviously famished, and look for Peeta. The first floor is silent, so I assume he's upstairs. Without thinking, I open the door to his bedroom, only to immediately shut it again. Knocking didn't even grace my mind, our houses are so similar it felt like walking into my own bedroom. The two seconds of an open door revealed a boy fresh out of a shower, towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair dripping down his spine, a crooked smile in his blue eyes. Torture, I think, as I stand outside his bedroom, paralysed, the connection between my brain and my legs seemingly severed.

He opens the door, now wearing pants, though a shirt is nowhere to be found. His scars exposed, almost as if it to teach me a lesson about the contrast between shame and pride. I look at my pink skin as damaged goods; he displays his as war scars, symbols of survival. "When did you get here?" he asks, supposedly unaware of what just happened. The redness in my cheeks tells him there's no use ignoring it. "I don't care if you see me, remember?" he says, reassuring. I do remember. The fact that he remembers, on the other hand, is news to me.

"Just arrived here now. Haymitch is downstairs. He's drinking again, Peeta. He just picked up a whole box of liquor and we know that if he drinks one bottle, the others won't last long. We have to do something." I worry about Haymitch. I thought he was doing well as a sober man and I can't tell what's driving him to drink again. The games are over, no more mentoring the Capitol's prey.

"I know, we have to talk to him. Though I get it, Katniss," he sighs.

I'm confused and I ask him, "What do you get?"

"The pain. Some things are too hard to deal with them on your own. Drinking is to him what morphling was to the addicted victors from District 6. Without a few things in my life, I'm sure I'd go the same way." His revelation makes my head tick, reminding me of my promise to keep him alive, to protect him.

"No, you wouldn't. I wouldn't let you." I reply confidently, partly because I couldn't bear to see Peeta transformed into an alcoholic, and partly because, having drunk with Haymitch before, I know the feeling is less anaesthetic than it seems.

"Exactly," he says and walks past me, down the stairs. Peeta has become a master of last words, always leaving me stranded, trying to figure out the meaning behind his every sentence. Leaving me clues.

He makes sure Haymitch eats and cuts a deal with him. Peeta will keep the bottles and hand them back one by one. Rationing isn't exactly what Haymitch had in mind, but Peeta's voice is dry and firm. There's no arguing this out. I know Haymitch was our mentor and he's years older than us, old enough to be a father to Peeta or me. It's probably how most people see him, though the truth is that most of the time Peeta is the one acting like a parent and Haymitch behaves more like the stubborn older brother I never had. It's a weird dynamic, but it works for us. Watching them bicker at each other in the kitchen reminds me of how far we've come. Without them I'd be alone in my home district. And for all intents and purposes, it wouldn't even feel like home.

I take the time to open the thick envelope my mother's sent me. There's a picture of Annie and Finnick in their wedding day, a small one of Prim and me on her first birthday, and random ones she was able to collect through the other victors. Wiress, shortly after her games. Johanna and a young boy, unidentified, though I have a feeling it's better to keep him that way. And one from a blonde girl that looks strangely familiar. I've seen her face, and before I even struggle to remember where, Haymitch snatches the photo from my hands.

"Where did you get this?" He's looking at it dumbfounded, a mix of pain and surprise in his eyes.

"My mother sent it. We know her, right? I can't remember her name though."

"Maysilee Donner," Haymitch whispers.

Something strikes in Peeta's brain, like a whole new memory coming back to life. "That's right, she was in the second Quell with you. The birds..." he quiets down, suddenly regretting his ability to remember at all. Haymitch is pale, as if all the blood just rushed out of his body. His empty eyes look up to Peeta, and as a result of an unspoken request, Peeta opens a bottle and pours it into a glass. Haymitch swallows it all at once.

"Do you want to keep the photo, Haymitch?" I ask him, knowing her death did a number on him. It takes me back to a conversation we had one afternoon in his kitchen, my confused feelings silenced by his reminder to myself that Peeta and I are both alive, and that should count for something.

"No, you keep it, sweetheart." The alcohol does its job and he's breathing normally again. "It's for that book you've been working on, right?"

"We could use your help, Haymitch," Peeta says. We do need Haymitch's help, but most of all, we need to keep him occupied. The tears Peeta and I shed together as we worked on the most recent pages of the book have shown us it's time to work on recovery, not self-destruction.

 _Haymitch finally joins us, contributing twenty-three years of tributes he was forced to mentor._  It takes longer than it should; sometimes we break for days, hoping he'll find it in himself to continue to remember. As much as it hurts him, it's one way of making it count.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To those who sent me messages wishing I didn't end the fanfiction after 20 chapters and wrote longer, possible after I tell him, "Real.": I am going away for a month at the end of June and I'd like to have this piece finished to you before I leave. That said, this won't be last you'll see of me. If you care to continue to read my writing, I hope to write two more everlark fanfictions pre-epilogue and one epilogue based. Thanks for reviewing, you're the best!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The day we reach the 73rd Hunger Games, after going through many years of Haymitch's mentored tributes, the three of us feel strangely closer together. It might be the way Haymitch stares at me only to fixate on Peeta the next second, seemingly wondering if the two of us could have been next in the list of dead children. I think about what his life might have been before he was reaped and after he won the games. I noticed him around the Hob, but never bothered to find anything about him. I was too busy growing up and, later, making sure my family didn't starve to death. Now, I regret not knowing more. It's not like I can ask Haymitch, anyway. He only volunteers information about himself sporadically; and even then, they way he tries to talk a lot without saying much is apparent. I think Peeta has better luck than me, though I've decided not to pressure him to tell me. I don't want to get him in trouble. Especially now that liquor is back and Haymitch is prone to have cranky days. I don't complain. A drunk Haymitch can be annoying, but it's what I grew accustomed to in the past years. Better that then an even grumpier, sober Haymitch, like the one from District 13.

Haymitch describes the last tributes he mentored before us, and Peeta paints them. I remember them vaguely, whether I intended to or not, I did pay attention to part of the games that year. Gale boycotted it. He wanted me to do the same, but I didn't see the point. Like it or not, we were attached to it. The lives of some of our own were on the line. Only after going through the arena twice, I understand what he was doing. The feeling of constantly being watched, of having to hide my thoughts and emotions only to show the Capitol what they wanted to see... It was at times excruciating. Even more knowing everybody in the district could see it. If I had the choice today, I think I would have boycotted them too.

The damp and hot day carries an odd feeling with it. As soon as I step outside, my bow in hand, a sheath of arrows on my shoulder, I know why. The silence is the same, though I don't see children lining up when I get to the main square. No peacekeepers around. No mixture of fear and sadness in the eyes of every single habitant of District 12. For the first time in seventy-six years, there is no reaping day. I keep my eyes open, afraid that if I close them, everything will revert to the way it was. I'm eighteen years old, it'd be my last year wondering whether or not I'd be reaped had I not competed before. I remember worrying the year before that Snow would make sure to reap Prim again, just to punish me. If that looked suspicious, he'd go for Madge, maybe one of Gale's siblings. But I was wrong to think that way when he was crafting what he thought would be the best method to get rid of me. Who would have thought I'd stand here today in front of the Justice Building, the square empty and the children in school, while he rots in a grave somewhere?

I wonder whether Coin has a grave too and it fills me up with anger. Prim was denied such a privilege. Her body torn into a million pieces, ashes that still lie on the ground of the City Circle. Her life, no more. My life, never the same.

I walk to our meadow in the Seam, still so empty, so grey. One day I hope to find the strength to make her a small memorial here. This is will be my chosen resting place for the one I love the most. She would like it, I think. I mentioned this to Peeta the last time we walked under these trees and he suggested we bring some of the primroses he'd planted. Not yet, though. The Seam looks pale as it continues to mourn the lives lost along the way.

When I arrive at the woods, it's as quiet as the town to the untrained ear. For me, it's as lively as any other day, as every animal scrambles to find the tree with the best shade. In less than an hour, I come back with three squirrels and big fat wild turkey. I give them all to Greasy Sae, partly as a thank you for her help in the past months, partly because I fear it's too hot to try to cook them myself. She promises to bring me enough food for a week. "Haymitch, too," she says, and I'm glad there's one more person keeping an eye on him. He hates the idea of being watched, or "chaperoned" as he says. A reference to Effie, I think, wondering if they're getting along again. I try not to dwell on it too much. I can barely understand my own feelings, how am I expected to understand anything that goes on in Haymitch's head?

In fact, the only person whose feelings I'm interested in deciphering is Peeta's. It seems impossible, though. I can't put a finger on Peeta's transformation yet. Will I ever know how much from his pre-hijacking life and mind will return to him? I can't tell if the feelings that grew inside a five-year-old boy will grow again; if the venom that remains in his veins will ever allow them. Sometimes I think they have, but Peeta hides them to protect me, though it feels as if he's playing with me, trying to sense what he's up against now. The truth is that I don't know what he's up against either. Most days I feel like I'm facing a double-edged sword, suspicious that I'll get hurt no matter which way I go. Worse, I could hurt him with my uncertainty, my fear of being undeserving of his love, assuming it's still buried inside of him. If his hijacking showed me anything, is that I'm more afraid of hurting Peeta than hurting myself.

I walk though my front door as the phone rings. At first, I can't figure out what's making the obnoxious noise. Nobody ever calls aside from Dr. Aurelius on Tuesday, and I believe that isn't today. I pick it up to find my mother on the other side of the line. Her voice is low, though rushed.

"Hi, Katniss. I thought you weren't home," she says.

"I just got here," I tell her and we're silent for a few seconds. It happens every time we talk on the phone, both of us aware of how wrong it is. We've lost it all, we should be together, not apart. Yet, it's the absence of Prim's voice around us that remind us it will be easier to heal this way.

"Did you get the photos I sent earlier?" she asks me and I nod before realizing she can't see me. I tell her we did and thank her, knowing this isn't why she called. She proceeds to tell me Annie's due date is fast approaching and I stop listening after she tells me it's a boy. All I can think of is Finnick and how proud he'd be of having a son he could take out to sea and show him how to fish. I snap out of it when my mother mentions Peeta's name.

"What about Peeta?" I ask.

"The baby shower, Katniss. Annie asked me if he could bake a cake for it, since she loved the one he baked for her wedding," she says and I think it's a nice thought, even though I'm suddenly upset at the idea of Peeta taking a train to District 4 to bake Annie a cake. For some reason, it makes District 12 feel like a vast prison cell; one I don't know if they'll ever let me out of.

"So when is he travelling to District 4?" I ask her, saddened that he's leaving, even if only temporarily.

"No, Katniss. He isn't coming. He said he's very busy with something else and can't come. He wants to ship it over here, and I was supposed to call him when Annie had set a date for the shower to give him the address. I tried calling him twice today, but nothing. Could you write it down and give it to him?" I find paper and a pencil as soon as I can, pleased that I don't have to say goodbye to him at the train station. It registers as selfish of me, though I justify it in my head by arguing that I wouldn't be able to take care of him if he's out of the district. My mother gives me the address of one of her doctor friends who agreed to host the shower and I put the paper in my pocket after saying goodbye.

I walk over to his house, only to remember he might not be there at all, given my mother's unsuccessful attempts to call him.

I keep walking anyway and find him working on the herb garden in his backyard. He's humming something, and I'm so surprised to witness it that it takes me a while to realize I know the song. It's The Hanging Tree and it sounds bittersweet as it penetrates my ears.

"Katniss!" he shouts and I walk closer to him. He stands up to meet me, a crooked beam on his lips.

"My mother called, she wanted to give you the address for Annie's shower. Something about you baking a cake," I say, trying not to sound resentful for being the last to know about it.

"Oh, good," he takes the piece of paper, without offering a comment about this news.

"She said you're shipping it because you're busy with something," I probe.

"Yes. I wouldn't be able to go," he tells me while collecting some chives. I sit waiting for the reason why, and when he doesn't volunteer it, I ask him. "Isn't it obvious? It's because of you," he teases.

"But, I never asked you to stay here. I'm the one sentenced to stay in the district, not you. You're free to leave and come back. You're also free to leave and never come back," I tell him, though I don't dare look in his eyes.

He brings his hand to my chin, forcing me to look at him. The sunlight bounces off his blue irises, making them look as deep as the sky.

"You don't have to ask me to stay here. It was my choice to return months ago, and it's my choice to stay now. I don't need a trip to District 4, I'm fine where I am," he assures me. "Besides, we've got the book to finish, so I'm very,  _very_ , busy with that."

Given our proximity in the most recent weeks, the way Peeta and I have spent more time together, I half-expected him to kiss my forehead at this point. It seemed to me that was what he did now, his way of transferring his own certainty onto me. However, Peeta doesn't move, his hand still on my chin. I hold on to it for a few seconds, only to let go and give him a peck on his cheek. Perhaps my own way of letting him know I like that he chose to stay, and that I'd hope that he chooses never to leave.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm foreseeing about 7 more chapters until the end of this fanfiction. Then I shall return next month with a different everlark multi-chapter piece, if you'd like.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Peeta has to bake Annie's cake a day in advance of the shower so it gets there in time. The cake isn't as big as the one for Finnick and Annie's wedding, yet he's spent the last few days planning it so carefully. It's beautiful and anyone could look at it and see how it's meant for a District 4 baby. He piped the surface in thin and intricate nets, like the ones they use to fish. On top, Peeta painted a baby's cradle. It's white, except for the small blue trident painted on the sheets. I wanted to help him, but never mentioned it, knowing how important this job was for him. He did let me mix the batter for a few minutes, until it started splashing out of the bowl and I asked him to take over. Baking really isn't my specialty, though I like the fact Peeta baked extra vanilla sponge cake so that we could have some later.

"Do you want me to help you take it to the train station?" I try to help.

"I can do it myself, though I wouldn't mind the company," he says as he gently places the round cake in a box. He writes the address on top along with careful instructions for its delivery. "I arranged to have them keep it in the train's kitchen car, I hope it arrives intact."

"It's a long way from District 12 to District 4, but we've ridden that train before. I think it'll be okay," I reassure him, afraid he'll suddenly decide to deliver it in person. I know it shouldn't matter if Peeta leaves the district for a few days. The problem is I got used to seeing him everyday lately, even if just for a meal, and I'd hate to break that routine. Somehow, it's what keeps me focused. Not that I don't have bad thoughts and nightmares when he's around. Waking up to a new day is still just as terrifying, yet I know I'll make it through whatever awaits me if I have Peeta around. In the back of my mind, something tells me it's the same for him. It convinces me he'd stay anyway.

On our way to the station, we speculate on baby names. As painful as it must be, we have a feeling he'll be named after his father. I don't think I could ever name a child after a loved one, too many memories. I feel strangely relieved to know I'll never have this dilemma in my life. There are no more Hunger Games, but I still won't have any children of my own. I couldn't bear the thought of losing them, and Prim's death reminded me that are multiple ways of losing your loved ones.

"I think Finnick would like that choice," Peeta interrupts my thoughts. I look up to him, worried that if Annie chooses that name she won't have peace ever again. Her mind can be so fragile. Even though my mother tells me she's doing well, trying to be strong for the baby, I know our daily fight is internal, battled deep inside our being.

"He'll probably look like Finnick too. If he gets his name, it will be a constant reminder that Finnick isn't there," I argue it out.

"Still," he continues. "It will also be a constant reminder that Finnick used to be there for her, and what a great person he was. But, Katniss, I see your point. People deal with remembrance in different ways."

We sit silently at the station as we wait for the train and I wonder what Peeta will name his own children. I can't think of anything concrete, because I'm suddenly more worried about who will be the mother of these imaginary Mellark children. One side of me wants to be with Peeta again, give ourselves the fair chance we never had. The other side fights it because I could never give him everything he wants. No matter what he used to say, the romantic lines that would slip out of his lips, I'm not perfect and I couldn't make him happy the way he deserves to be. I could hear Haymitch in my head calling me out on this, it sounds too much like an act of self-pity. Though it isn't. I'm fully aware of how much damage I could cause, and how much I've hurt Peeta already. My brain tells me I must be fair; let him go so that he can be happy. My heart tells me something else. I don't quite know what it is yet, but it's clear my feelings refuse to listen to my brain's advice. In the end, I can't help the sensation my heart simply doesn't know what's good for me. I had Peeta once, only to lose him completely. I don't think I could handle that happen to me again.

The train arrives and Peeta places the cake directly in the hands of one of the kitchen employees, repeating all the instructions he'd already written on the box. It's amazing to see how much care he puts in everything he makes, up to the last minute.

"Okay, we can go home now," he waves me over and I walk after him. It is only after we reach the small fork on the road that separates the way between my house and his that I notice how we've gotten into the habit of going home together, even if the idea of home isn't clearly defined. We are two different people who live in two separate houses. Even so, as soon as Peeta steps to the right I follow him into his house.

We sit down on the sofa, our memory book on the floor. I wait for Peeta to pick it up so we can continue our work, but he just sits still. He's staring at the fireplace, which lies empty given how hot it's been. His eyes are darker than usual and I know what that means. I sit by his side, trying to find a way to help. I know I can't, his flashbacks are there for him to fight on his own. I offer him my hand, but he doesn't take it. His mind must be so far away, he probably doesn't know where he is. So I inch closer to him and take his hand anyway. His muscles are flexed and I can see a dark blue vein become more and more visible in his wrist. This goes on for about ten minutes, maybe thirty. It's hard to keep track of time when all I can do is watch his eyes, hoping the blue colour will return to them.

He clutches my hand tight and releases it. A drop of sweat falls from his forehead. "Thank you," he whispers, and proceeds to kiss me in the cheek. His lips almost touch the corner of my mouth, and I'm as red as if we had truly kissed. Warmth runs through my body and my heartbeat accelerates. I haven't felt this way in so long.

I look up to him and meet his eyes. He hides a smile deep inside, knowing the effect he just had on me. This should be my line, a reference to something he's said about me not once, but twice before. Yet, he's the one to mumble it under his breath. "Katniss Everdeen, I'm starting to think you'll never know the effect you can have."

I don't say a word, though I can't let go of his hand. It's my rock at times I feel like I may just fade away, lost in a haze of feelings and memories. He isn't bothered by it, seemingly comfortable the way he is.

"Nerine." He says, waking me up from my trance.

"What is that?" I ask him.

"It's a flower. Once, my father was decorating this cake. It was a wedding cake for one of the peacekeepers and I helped him with the batter. But it was the first time he ever let me help me decorate something so important. I even had a feeling he'd get into trouble if my mother found out he let me work on it. I had done a few cakes, but nothing that big. Apparently, the bride really liked these flowers and wanted us to pipe them on the icing. They were pinkish red. I asked my father what they were called and he told me they were nerines." He takes a deep breath before continuing, and it makes me think this is the memory that just made its way back to him. "That day I decided that when I grew up, and if my wife agreed, I'd name our daughter Nerine."

"It's a beautiful name," I tell him, unsure of how else to react to this information. Some time ago, when I was sure Peeta loved me, I would have blushed or changed the topic. After all, I could have been the wife he's speaking of. Not today. I know he's just glad to have one more piece of his life back, and I have nothing to do with this. Except it affects me. It reminds me of how great of a father Peeta would be and how I'd be a horrible person to deny him that. My brain, aware of this conclusion, sends a signal to my heart. It slows down and the warmth that filled me up dissipates. I let go of Peeta's hand. "We should work on the book," I tell him. "You could add this one memory, maybe paint the cake."

He nods and stands up to bring his pencils over. He took them when we went to the lake on the weekend, and they're still sitting on the kitchen table. He takes a piece of parchment and begins to sketch what I think would be the beginning of his younger self working on a cake. But the lines turn into something else, and he's not alone. There's a boy, his back is turned to the page, and even though I can't see his face, the think blond hair lets me know it's Peeta. The boy is sitting down, as are other children around him. I watch the sketch carefully, not sure what to make of it until he draws a little girl. He dark hair arranged into two braids, instead of one. She's standing with her hand straight in the air. Peeta's drawn our first day of school. The very first day he noticed me. The day he told his father he would marry me.

I can't look at it anymore. The more colour he adds to the drawing, the more vivid the memory is in my head. The more I want to be with him and try to be happy, even if I have no idea what happiness entails anymore. I'd still like to find out. Make our losses count. And if this drawing is a sign from Peeta, maybe I could find out. Though, if this drawing is a sign from Peeta, maybe I shouldn't push into something that will only hurt him in the end. I can't give him what he wants. We'll both leave it more broken than we are today. And then, I will lose him forever. I just can't afford that.

So I take a new piece of parchment and decide to work on something else. I add details about our first games next to a drawing of the cornucopia. I talk about Rue, but most of all I want to talk about the other children. Thresh, who spared my life. Foxface, too clever for her own good. Cato, who didn't deserve such a horrible death. Even Marvel, the boy I shot and who killed Rue. He didn't deserve such a fate either. I feel sorry for the career tributes, who were simply pieces in the Capitol's games and merited to have been so much more.

Peeta gets up and comes back from the kitchen with two glasses of lemonade, though he doesn't say a word about his drawing of five-year-old us. He begins work on what I think is the man from District 11 who got shot for whistling Rue's tune. I let him be and immerse myself in my own old memories.

It's what we do during the days that follow.  _Additions become smaller. An old memory that surfaces. A late primrose preserved between the pages. Strange bits of happiness, like the photo of Finnick and Annie's newborn son_.  A healthy baby boy with sea green eyes, whose smile tells me he'll be as handsome as his father was. The back of the photo says "Little Finn" in Annie's handwriting. Peeta smiles at this revelation, and we both know it's proof that Annie is a lot stronger than she lets on.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was a special chapter for me, Katniss is finally letting herself go, finally realizing there isn't much point in holding back. She's less afraid of getting hurt now, but the concern for hurting Peeta remains (what I believe to be a consequence of watching him beg to die during their mission). I hope you like how it's going, and we're almost there :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_We learn to keep busy again. Peeta bakes. I hunt. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and then raises geese until the next train arrives. Fortunately, the geese can take pretty good care of themselves._  Even Buttercup has learned to stay away from Haymitch's backyard. I guess the cat isn't as stupid as I thought, after all. He's made a habit of sleeping in Prim's room, though he always comes out to be fed. Perhaps, knowing how hard it is for me to revisit her life and death every time I walk into her bedroom. I suspect it to be the reason why I've spent more of my time at Peeta's. I've even gotten into the habit of bringing game straight to his house after a day in the woods. I still cook it, and Peeta is glad to help me out in between his baking chores.

Today would be like any other day if it weren't for all of the movement in front of the Justice Building. In a few hours, television crews will arrive to televise the official re-inauguration of District 12. Not that many people have returned to it yet, but Haymitch tells me it's the way the new government of Panem has found of showing former district habitants that it is safe to return, and even trying to appeal to members of other districts looking for a change of environment.

"I don't see the point," I tell Peeta as we walk through the square on our way to Greasy Sae's. She invited us for lunch and her enthusiasm makes me think she's eager to tell us something. Peeta is looking up at the Justice Building. It's strangely decorated in the same way it was adorned during our Victory Tour. The image sends chills down my spine, as if today was about nothing but another Hunger Games celebration. The absence of peacekeepers keeps me in check. Even so, I take hold of Peeta's hand, suddenly afraid the ground will slip from under my feet. He doesn't seem to notice, but I let go of it when I see curious eyes in the distance. Surprisingly, Peeta's lie to Caesar Flickerman stood the test of time, and a war, because most of Panem still believes we're married. Those who have already returned to the district know that's not the case, even if they don't say anything about it.

"You don't see the point in what?" Peeta finally considers my comment.

"The party. How many of us are back here? Maybe 200 people?" I tell him and then I see what he'd been looking at. On the corner of the building lies a giant banner featuring no one other than Haymitch, Peeta, and myself. I recognize the photo, it's one of the many we took in the Capitol at the end of our tour. Everything it represents is wrong. I'm flustered. I can't believe they'd do that. We were promised peace, I thought I was done with having my face blasted all over Panem. Peeta turns to me, trying to calm me down about the photo.

"It's okay, Katniss. It's the deal Haymitch cut with Plutarch. No interviews, no public speaking, as long as our photo could be up there. At first, Plutarch wasn't thoroughly convinced. But then we got Dr. Aurelius to rule that we aren't ready for that much attention, so he had to settle for the banner," says Peeta, though I don't like the idea of being exposed again, even if through just a photo. The past months made me accustomed to anonymity, peace and quiet.  _Though more quiet than peace_ , I think. But, like it or not, as soon as the district returns to normal, some of our victor status will return with it. I'll have to find a way to handle it.

"And about the party," he continues. "I don't think it's all that bad, is it? Don't the people of Panem deserve to celebrate every little victory from now on? It's a new beginning, even if most people haven't come back yet. Maybe now they will."

"Fine. But I still don't agree with the banner. Those were horrible days, Peeta. Being controlled by the Capitol," I tell him, somehow afraid those days aren't over yet.

"They weren't all horrible to me," he whispers.

"They were about to throw us back into the arena, Peeta! And there we were, smiling for their cameras. How can you say that?" I point to the banner. I'm aware of how uncomfortable I was in that picture now. Peeta had just proposed and I had an uneasy feeling about my future. Little did I know my life would change as much as it did.

Peeta shakes his head at me and turns away. "I don't know, Katniss," he says, an inch of sadness in his voice. "They just... I don't remember everything, but not everyday was as bad as you say."

We walk to Sae's house, not another word is shared between us along the way. I'm not hungry anymore and feel like ducking under the tallest trees in the woods and hiding there all day. Peeta's distant, absorbed in his thoughts, though he puts on a wide smile when Sae opens the door.

"Good to see you two," she welcomes us in. "I just saw that big banner on the Justice Building, you all look so beautiful."

 _Nor her too_ , I think. I ask to use her bathroom, trying to avoid another unpleasant discussion about today's festivities. Sae's house is simple, though clean and big enough for her and her granddaughter. She lives in the third house in a row of houses built immediately after Panem was freed. They were all ready when I returned, right after my trial. Haymitch told me she was offered one of the houses a Victor's Village, a way to keep a closer eye on me, I suspect. She declined them, arguing they were too big for only two people. That's the house where Thom lives with his family, which accommodates six people very well.

I wash my face in the bathroom and sit down on the covered toilet seat. I feel lightheaded, as is expected given the little sleep I got last night. I had one of my worst nightmares yet. Prim had gone out to look for Lady, her goat, and was taking too long. It began to rain heavily, so I put my hunting jacket on and went outside to look for her. I told my mother where I was going, but she didn't seem to listen to me. Her eyes were as shiny as glass and her breathing heavy, as if it took her all the strength in the world to inhale and exhale. I find Prim in the meadow and just as I'm about to hold her, the rain gets warmer and warmer. It burns through my jacket and pants, to the point I get a horrible burn on my leg. I look up and realize the water has meshed with fire, a bizarre spectacle as flames fall from the sky. The district is burning and, suddenly, Prim bursts into a million pieces, right before my eyes.

I opened my eyes in pain, strangely aware of all my scars. Peeta woke up with my screaming, and it hit me I was in his house, in his bed. I vaguely remembered falling asleep right next to him as we played a game about our favourite things, another way of helping Peeta stir up memories about himself.

"Are you okay, Katniss? It was just a dream," he whispered, holding me for the first time that night. The next thing I remembered was waking up to the smell of pancakes and maple syrup.

I wash my face again, before leaving the bathroom. My skin is warm, though I don't know whose fault it is: the hot day, my dream about a rain of fire, or the thought of Peeta's body close to mine. I'm glad to see Sae has made lemonade, as that should quench my thirst.

"Have a seat, girl," she pulls out a chair for me. "I made lamb stew. I don't know if it'll taste like the fancy one from the Capitol, but I even managed to get some dried plums, so who knows?" she laughs at it and brings the pot of stew to the table. It smells delicious, and as much as I want to protest about having the Capitol invade even Sae's cooking for the day, I can't wait to taste it. "What do you think?" she asks, waiting patiently for my input. I bring it into my mouth and am pleasantly surprised. It tastes exactly like what we had at the training center and the arena. Maybe even better.

"This is great!" I tell her.

"Yes, it's really good. Some nice chunks of lamb too," Peeta adds, bringing a smile to her face.

"Well, I'm very happy you liked it. I can officially add it to the menu now." She's smiling and she scribbles something down on a small notepad.

"What menu?" Peeta asks.

"My food shop. I applied for a license the day they announced it on television, but it's been so long. I thought they forgot. Then they said that you could have things expedited now that they're officially re-opening the district for business," she explains.

"I heard about that too." Peeta is suddenly very interested, and I know why. He's been waiting for a response to his bakery license application for months and hasn't heard anything yet. "I thought we'd have to wait until more people came to settle, though. We don't even have an elected representative yet. I thought that person would be the one to authorize things."

"Actually not. You see, boy, they're bringing some officials today. The woman on the news show said they could sign any applications, on a first-come, first-serve basis. I assume that means we'll be alright... not many people back yet to apply for anything."

Peeta's eyes are radiant with hope. I know how much opening a bakery means to him. More than that, I know how much it could do for his mind, to keep him grounded. It's what hunting does to me, and being able to bake as an occupation could do wonders for him. I offer to go see these officials with him, and only after I remember that maybe we aren't on speaking terms. I think he was upset with me at the square just a few minutes ago. Peeta's reassuring nod, inviting me to accompany him, lets me know it's all right. We enjoy the rest of our meal with Sae, and although we say we'll see her later during the opening, we have no plans to attend. They can prop a banner of us as high as they want. But that's all they're getting.

Sure enough, when we walk into the Justice Building, which we'd thought was previously empty, we find the set up to bring the district back in business. The lobby has a small information booth with directions to different departments. They're still empty, but a sign points to a temporary office due to open today. We walk there and wait until someone shows up. About thirty minutes later, a short woman with light blue hair and make-up as vivid as Effie's walks in.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry. Didn't realize we'd have visitors this early," she says and then pauses, sizing us up. "Oh my! What do we have here? I didn't want to ride the train all the way here just for today, but this is worth it."

Her smile creeps me out in a way only Capitol people can, and Peeta puts his hand on the small of my back to let me know it's okay. I was so used to all of the attention, but the recent months of being left alone in the district reminded me of how much I hate being in the spotlight.

"Madam, my name is Peeta Mellark. I'd like to check on the status of a business license application," he says it casually, pretending she doesn't already know his name and much more about him. About us.

"Oh yes, my dear. What an honour! An exciting day, isn't it? Revitalization of the districts, it's simply wonderful. Businesses will help with that. I assume it's a bakery, isn't it, young boy? Oh, of course it is. Just give me a second and I'll check that for you. If I had known I'd have such illustrious company I would have requested some refreshments. Would you like me to order something? It's just a phone call away. I just came back from the kitchen and everything looks marvellous. Plutarch will be so pleased!" She finally exhales and proceeds to look for Peeta's application in a small electronic gadget. A blue hologram pops out of it and she scans its contents for names.

Peeta pays attention to her, as she brings out some papers and has him sign them. He's excited, though I saw him cringe at Plutarch's name, just as I did. The chance that Plutarch may have come down to this event, as small as it is, is very high considering he's been after us for a while. Somehow, both Peeta and I know it isn't safe to be seen in the district today.

"One more signature here... Yes. Just wonderful! Just wonderful," she says as she keeps a copy of the paper for herself and gives Peeta the other one. "Now, of course, this doesn't constitute a business license yet, since you don't have a proper place of business to operate your bakery. But it gives you permission to start construction work. Now, you didn't hear this from me, but I'm sure given your highly regarded status within Panem, they'll allocate you the best piece of land in the marketplace for your little bakery. The little perks of being a victor, aren't they?" She smiles, seemingly pleased with herself.

Peeta thanks her and says goodbye, and we rapidly usher ourselves out of the building while I mutter  _the little perks of being a victor_  under my breath. As soon as we're out of the building, Peeta interrupts me.

"You're doing it wrong, Katniss," he says and then pronounces her last sentence in perfect Capitol accent, with special emphasis on  _perks_  as he holds out the signed form for me to see. As apprehensive as I feel right now, Peeta's attempt at humour makes me relax a bit.

The problem is that if Plutarch really is here, we'll end up on television. With so many news cameras around, he'll find a way to entrap us. Fully aware of this, Peeta and I know exactly what to do. The square is almost ready for the event and a train is supposed to arrive from the Capitol with members of the new government and even some new habitants in an hour. So we run to our houses to pack everything we need for the day, and then, we take the back alleys to the woods. We spend our day by the lake, far away from the commotion. Peeta decides to sketch me, though I don't collaborate very much. Moving a lot whenever I feel his eyes staring straight at me. Finally, we sit and just appreciate the nature around us. I take a nap, my head on his lap, and wake up to find my one braid transformed in two. We watch the sunset together and slowly sneak back into the village when all the noises from the square die out. I turn to walk to my house when Peeta takes my hand, leading me into his home for a night of comfort and a quiet hope that things will be all right.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

The next week arrives with the sound of warm conversations filled with remembrance and struggle to accept, and even some laughter. Then we know.  _We're not alone. A few hundred others return because, whatever has happened, this is our home_ _._ I recognize some faces from my past life here in the district, others belong to people I saw regularly in the hallways of District 13's lodging. A sweet knock on Peeta's door lets us know Delly Cartwright is back. She sounds cheery and excited to be back, but most of all, she doesn't stop talking about how impressed she is with Peeta's recovery.

"I knew being back here would be good for you," she tells Peeta. He just smiles and gently nudges me under the table. I barely have time to interpret his gesture, wondering if I'm part of his remedy, because she's turned her attention to me and won't stop talking about how proud Panem is of its Mockingjay.

"Thanks, Delly. I was just the face they used, though. Everybody fought together," I say, quietly thinking about the ones we lost in battle. Finnick and Boggs, and even the ones we lost in other ways, like Cinna and my sweet Prim.

"Everything you did was brave, Katniss. Coin wanted you to think you were just a symbol, but you know your actions contributed to winning the war. Even the television special on the district the other day recognized it," Delly mentions.

"What special?" I'm intrigued by it and can't help but think that Plutarch has something to do with this.

She talks about it casually; more concerned with trying all the different mini pies Peeta has baked. "Oh, the special they aired after the district's re-inauguration. You didn't see it? It was very touching. The shot of Peeta and you walking out of the Justice Building, a business license in his hands. That was very inspiring. I think it even motivated me to move back sooner."

"The shot of what?" Peeta shouts. I thought I'd be the one to turn red in rage, but he's mad and shocked. A hidden camera, I should have known. But Peeta couldn't suspect it, he wasn't exposed to Plutarch as much as I was in 13. He's only learning more about the tools Plutarch is willing to use to achieve his objectives now. Like the silver parachutes in the City Circle. Not only a terribly symbolic way to end a war, but also an almost bulletproof way to rule me out of the game. To finish breaking me. To ensure I wouldn't present any danger to the ambitions of a foul leader. Whether Plutarch was fully aware of it, or not.

"They're invading in our life again, Katniss! You see that?" Peeta protests with a small punch on the dining table.

I want to tell him it's okay. Better that than being forced to speak. I'll just talk to Haymitch later, see what he knows about it. Maybe he can try once more to keep Plutarch out of reach. We've had enough of gamemaker interventions for a lifetime. I don't say a word, though. Instead, I stare at Delly, who began giggling like a schoolgirl.

"Sorry," she says. "It's just that... Well, Peeta said  _our life_ , not our lives. Get it? I don't mean to pry, but I'm happy for the both of you," she sighs and smiles at us.

"Excuse me?" I say, now annoyed at whatever she insinuated. I wonder if this special she just mentioned painted us as a couple again, if Panem now expects us to run the bakery together, or even announce a new pregnancy. It's hard to figure out what I'm feeling if Plutarch is trying to do it on my behalf on a television screen.

The truth is what Peeta said was just a slip of the tongue, I barely noticed. I turn to him, expecting to hear a similar explanation, but he doesn't say a word. It's only after I kick him under the table that he explains he was referring to three of us, "Haymitch, Katniss, and myself. Like that banner, Delly. They won't leave us victors alone."

Delly seems to take his explanation, though there's a mesmerized look on her face every time Peeta and I talk to each other. When she leaves to settle into her new house, I take a deep breath of relief. All that staring was starting to make me uncomfortable. Especially since there isn't anything to speculate about. Peeta and I spend a lot of time together, awake or even asleep. But we're surely not a couple. Whenever my mind wonders about it, I'm reminded that any form of affection he's shown me can be simply interpreted as friendly. Unlike the games, there is no kissing anymore, no evidence of the romance that used to get us sponsors.

I catch myself desiring those kisses. It's been so long since I felt his soft lips, so reassuring. Convincing me that we could be safe at last. Somewhere, deep inside of me, I'd like for Delly's suspicions to be right. I've even tried harder to figure out if Peeta still likes me that way at all. The problem is, I wasn't good at making my intentions clear before, and I'm certainly no better now.  _Whatever these intentions may be_ , I think. After all, whenever I try to unravel what I'm feeling, I pull away of fear he doesn't feel the same. Afraid I took him for granted only to be denied a second chance.

It's close to midnight and I should head home and have a shower. Summer is not quiet over yet and it wants to ensure it makes a lasting impression before autumn takes over. I stand up to leave when something comes on television, as Peeta flips the channels. Probably looking for the cooking show he likes watching when it's late and sleep escapes him. We're on the screen, though it's not the special Delly had mentioned. It's footage from our victory tour. A special about Panem's living victors, "May we honour the dead and cherish the ones who overcame," the announcer says. I sit down again, upset they're still playing this card. With Plutarch as head of Panem's communications, I have a feeling he'll make us relive this as long as he can.

Peeta's watching attentively, seemingly waiting for either a new memory to pop up, or a painful flashback to nest itself in his brain. I better stay here, just in case it's the latter. I watch him swallow hard, and I wait for it. They show Johanna's interview at the Quell, Annie's impressive swimming during her games, and they dub Haymitch a "natural entertainer" when he falls off the stage during the reaping for the 74th games. Then they turn to Peeta and me. Our engagement on live television, the way we danced at the many parties we had to attend, and end the program with the two of kissing at the beach in the arena. Having More seen our moments in the cave alongside Caesar Flickerman, the beach moments feel more private. As if we'd forgotten there were cameras around. Or just simply didn't care. I'm disgusted that Plutarch would choose to showcase that to the whole country again.

Peeta's quiet, taking in everything he just saw. He slowly adjusts his prosthetic leg and stands up, offering me his hand. I assume he's inviting me to sleep upstairs, just like the night before, but he stays on the same spot. The credits for the television show are rolling in, a soft song in the background.

"Could I have this dance?" he says quietly.

"What?" I'm startled by this request.

"This dance, Katniss. I want to see if I still know how to dance." His voice is a mix of innocence and eagerness. As if not knowing if he still can dance is breaking his heart.

I stand up, bring myself closer, place one hand on his shoulder and he takes the other one in his. His posture is strong and he begins to lead me confidently, looking more and more like the Peeta we just watched on the television. We move from side to side, his body guiding mine. Peeta's beaming. Happy to confirm he still knows what he's doing, even as awkwardly as his leg can be when he tries to swing me around . I let him lead me until the song on the TV is over, when I use the remote to shut it off. But then, instead of breaking apart, he holds on to my waist so I can feel my chest against his. I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my head on his shoulder, vaguely mindful of the sound of his heartbeat.

Although there is no song to serenade us, we dance for a long time. A soft rhythm from side to side, convinced that if we stopped, something bad would happen. Our unison motion the only way to keep our fears at bay. Then Peeta stops and we just stand in each other's arms, keeping each other safe. When he whispers in my ears, "I missed you," something wakes up within me. I feel braver, even if his words make my knees weaker. I kiss his neck and my lips touch the corner of one of his scars. If I ever needed a sign to finally grasp what I want, what I need, this was it. We make our bed right there on the sofa and slowly fall asleep. He untangles my hair and I listen to his every breath.

The next days are followed by more closeness. Even if I can't shake the feeling something is holding us back. A secret Peeta isn't telling me, a thought he hasn't shared. I tell myself I'm being paranoid and that kind of thinking might pull us apart again. I can't let it happen, not now when I can feel what we have steadily unwind into something new, perhaps bigger.

I decide to hunt, the woods being the place where I can best hear my thoughts. Peeta stays behind, preoccupied with the paperwork for his bakery. Since the letter arrived confirming he could have the same lot where his family's bakery once stood, he's begun planning every detail for construction. The blueprint he showed me retains the main characteristics of the old bakery, except this time nobody will live on the premises, leaving more room for the kitchen and a serving area.

I'm halfway to the fence when I see it. Better yet, I don't see it at all. The fence has been taken down, with only a warning sign for wildlife in the area. The same sign informs that the green area that separates the district from the woods will be eventually fenced again, but with bushes. Designed to keep the animals at bay, not district habitants. But for now, the open space unsettles me. Partly because how much more welcoming it looks, partly because it means the woods are open territory now. Anyone from the district may come and go as they please. I take a deep breath and realize that, as much as I thought of it as a private place, more people could use the resources available among the trees. Yet, I secretly, and selfishly, hope the wildlife warning discourages others from joining me.

The truth is the district is finally coming back to life. It might not ever be like the district I once new, but the goal is to make it better. A place of growth, not oppression.  _With the mines closed, they plow the ashes into the earth and plant food. Machines from the Capitol break ground for a new factory where we will make medicines. Although no one seeds it, the Meadow turns green again._  I bring Peeta along and we sow the ground and plant primroses under a tree. I visit it from time to time, and even Buttercup runs over after he understands what the flowers are for. Plutarch isn't the only one who can make a symbolic statement, after all. If silver parachutes came down with the gift of destruction, soft yellow primroses can mark renewal and the strength to start all over again.

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	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

_Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of the chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over._  Today's episode is particularly bad. He sinks his fingers into his hands up to the point where I expect him to start bleeding, only to release them before any real damage could be done. A drop of sweat slides down the right side of his face and I wipe it off with a piece of cloth. Before, when Peeta used to hide from me while he went through horrifying pain, I thought he did it because he didn't care whether I was by his side. Only now I see he did it to protect me from the venom that was still strong enough in his bloodstream to corrupt his sight of me into something unimaginable. A different mutt, every time. The one time he told me to leave the room still dances in my memory. "Get out, Katniss. Now! Before I..." And he closed the door on me before I could even hesitate. Keeping me from the dangerous horrors the venom had just conjured up. Now, with the therapy, Peeta has learned to separate the shiny version of me who threatens him with a knife from the reality where I'm only cutting bread slices so we can make toast. "I don't believe you present a physical threat to Katniss during your flashbacks anymore. She should still use caution, one can never be too sure considering how your brain was affected. But you have done well, Peeta," Dr. Aurelius tells him over the phone. And I swear I've never seen Peeta look this relieved.

I'd be lying if I said the doctor's opinion didn't lift a weight off my shoulders too, even just partially. Even if there was only one time when I believed Peeta could really kill me. The sight of his hands locked around my throat still makes me uneasy. But even during the mission, when I was certain Coin had sent me with the intention of having Peeta wipe me off the map, I could sense his true self hiding underneath that confused shell. The last time I kissed him was proof of it. I didn't need to protect myself from Peeta, because he was learning to protect me from every danger in the world again.

I lead Peeta to the sofa and bring him a glass of water. It's raining, though it's nothing like the storms we'd had recently. This is warm soft rain meant to provide the soil with an opportunity to kiss summer goodbye, before the leaves turn yellow and make a crunchy carpet on the ground. I listen to every drop, particularly the sound of the water hitting a tin bucket we'd forgotten outside the window after we collected carrots and a few heads of cabbage from the garden. He drinks the water, one sip at a time, seemingly recollecting his thoughts. Trying to make sense of what was real and what wasn't. We still play the game when doubt trickles into his head, and after I take his hand and graze it in circles with my fingers, he asks me if I could help him sort something out. As I expected.

"Katniss, in the Quarter Quell arena, on the beach, I gave you that locket with pictures of your mother, Prim, and Gale. Do you know why I did it?" he asks. He's taken my hand in his, now being the one to graze his fingers up and down my palm. I thought he was going to ask me if something was real, but I now see there's a deeper question bothering him.

"You were trying to protect me," I tell him. "You wanted to convince me out of saving your life by arguing that other people needed me, that I could have a future without you."

"That's what I thought," he says, though I sense he's not done yet. His eyes don't look as sad as much as they look pensive, as if he's considering every little bit he can remember from that day. "Did it work? What I said?"

"Not for a second," I say. What I had thought was a wish to save him, because I owed him as much, had already transformed into something larger than a sense of fairness or my agreement with Haymitch. If Peeta died, I would not have willed myself to be crowned a victor. There was no way I could have returned to District 12 without him. Even his torture in the Capitol, when, for his sake, I thought it was better he was dead, could not convince me I could move on without Peeta by my side. The shallow kisses Gale and I shared only added to my pre-judgement, of which I become more certain with every rising sun. I could never fix the shattered pieces of a life without Peeta.

"I thought so. I remember trying to use our baby. Well, our imaginary baby. Not to sway the sponsors, but to remind you of a family you could have someday." Peeta takes a deep breath, considering his own words. "My love for you seemed so selfless," he reckons, his voice empty and confused.

"It was," I agree. Suddenly disturbed by his use of the past tense. I'm bothered by where this conversation might go, worried that somehow he'll reach the conclusion that it wasn't worth it. That it wasn't the venom speaking when he told me I wasn't particularly pretty. That I really was a piece of work for playing him. For letting my confusion act in disregard for his feelings. And Gale's.

I untangle our hands. Thinking of my interactions with Peeta in 13 makes me hate myself, and they almost make me hate him too. Prim was the one to warn me of how poorly I was dealing with Peeta's state, how it wasn't his fault he was transformed into a weapon against me. Not a weapon designed to kill me, as Coin had thought. But a more powerful one meant to disarm me. Make me fall apart for having to lose Peeta's love to finally realize how much I yearned for it.

"Are you okay?" Peeta asks me, concerned. I'm not. I feel terrible. A paradoxical mess. Trading courage for revenge. Friendship for resent. Misunderstanding affection for debt. How unfairly I treated Peeta only makes me wonder why he's still here. Am I deserving of redemption? Can I finally learn to see myself the way Peeta once saw me? Better yet, can I truly be the things he thought I were?

"Katniss," he interrupts my thoughts. "I don't know what you're thinking, but I just wanted to thank you." Thank me? Didn't I just go over in my head about how I lied and betrayed him? "You look startled," he continues. "I have to thank you for not letting me convince you in the arena. Somehow I know that whatever pushed you to keep me alive then is what persuaded you to keep me alive later, in the mission. When I was a threat to myself and others. You could have killed me and I would've understood. I would've even forgiven you. But I'm glad you chose to save me again."

"I'm glad we always save each other," I correct him. "Because  _I_  wouldn't have forgiven myself."

"Well, isn't it wonderful?" He smiles, his tone of voice more cheerful now. "We didn't agree about it back then, in the arena, but we agree about it now. Sometimes I think we must thank Haymitch for making us contradictory promises he obviously can't keep."

It's funny how little comments by Peeta can break through the dark heavy clouds hanging over me. Making me feel better about myself, about the things I've done and haven't done. Showering me with a new perspective. I see how he and Prim were similar in some ways. She could make me see something more clearly, think outside of my stubborn self, and cheer me up on gloomy days. Peeta seems to have the same effect on me. I don't know what happens to people after we die, but a part of me wishes she could see me now. She'd smile at the sight of me trying to reconstruct my life, shunning destructive thoughts away, and allowing myself to seek this pleasing sensation I only feel when Peeta is around. I even think it could be happiness, as absurd as this may sound after all we've been through.

I draw closer to Peeta and rest my head on his shoulder. He brings his arm around me, holding me tight, as we cherish the closeness. Like the times before, I wait for a sign. A sound, a word, a gesture. Anything that tells me we're ready to resume what we had started. Be the lovers of District 12, no longer star-crossed. But nothing. Peeta seems perfectly satisfied with holding my hand and caressing my arm. He traces one of my scars, twirling his fingers around it. Letting me know they don't repulse him. For all I know, he's just as proud of my burns as he is of his. But if my burnt appearance is not to blame for his refusal to kiss me, then what is?

I go to the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. My hair has grown longer to the point it stays put in its braid. I have dark circles under my eyes, but they have been there for a long time, even before the Quell. Something only my prep team was able to disguise. I did laundry the other day, so my clothes are clean too, though there's a smudge of dirt on my pants from my trip to the woods this morning. I try to see what Peeta used to see all the times he told me I was beautiful, hoping that if I find it, I can enhance it. Remind him. But whatever it was, I can't find it.

Peeta knocks on the bathroom door, telling me we're going to be late for Haymitch's. We try to have dinner with him at least once a week. It helps us check on him, but it's not the only reason we do it. Haymitch is our family now and, no matter how hard he tries to irritate us with words and the strong aroma of vomit and white liquor, we enjoy his company. He brings us a feeling of normalcy, even if we were joined by circumstances anything but normal.

I wash my face and walk out to find that Peeta's already waiting for me outside. "Sorry, I had to come out for fresh air," he says. "It's very warm inside, I have to stop baking on warm days. The heat stays locked in forever."

"Soon you won't have to bake here at all," I tell him. His bakery plans are going well and they're supposed to build the foundation within the next week. My reminder does the trick to get Peeta in a very good mood, a requirement for our dinners with Haymitch. They tend to begin with Peeta and I doing all the cooking and end with us in the kitchen again, doing all the cleaning. Tonight's no different. Except that Haymitch is more talkative than usual, memories sparked by Peeta's mention of the intensive special programming on Hunger Games victors Plutarch has run recently.

"You see, sweetheart. Chaff really didn't know what he was doing. Probably too drunk to tell, anyway." Haymitch tells us about a Victors' party held before the 72nd Hunger Games. Somehow it ended with Chaff setting a swimming pool on fire. Peeta gives me a witty look, as if letting me know how grateful he is that we never had to attend any of those. It's not like the victors chose to have them, it was part of their job to attend certain Capitol functions. But it looks to me like they tried to do the best they could to enjoy themselves. Even if an endless supply of liquor was required to do so.

It's a night of reminiscing for Haymitch and we let him. It's not often that Haymitch finds the strength and willpower to open up about his life, especially considering almost every single person in the stories tonight is dead. Victors, prep team members, avoxes. The stories have an unexpected effect on me. I feel resilient, ready to rise from destruction to honour our losses. I'm no longer a Mockingjay, but a creature from ancient fables my father used to tell. A phoenix, a bird that burns at the end of its life only to be reborn from ashes. Newer, younger, stronger.

I look around the table. It's fallen silent. Haymitch has passed out from liquor and sadness. Bittersweet misery stamped on his tired face. Peeta has taken the knife off his hands, and slowly continues the ritual of carving the top of the table. I want to tell him everything thing I've withheld. But I'm not as good with words as he is. I hope he knows I'm sorry. That it pains me to recognize my mistakes, my stubbornness, my refusal to let him in. The kisses given to someone else, which were only meant for him. Somehow I think he understands. Maybe he's even aware that I'm thankful for him too. Not just because he saved my life many times before, but on account of the way he continues to save me everyday.

That is why, when Peeta leads me back to his house at the end of the night, I follow with no hesitation. He tells me good night after I lie down on his bed. The only place where I can safely fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Three more chapters to go. But I have a little surprise in store too, Peeta's POV related. Just hold on. Please comment with your opinions if possible. It helps a lot!
> 
> Also, on a different note... I'm curious to know how you found out about this fanfiction. I know many of you just browsed through , but any other sources?


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

_I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips._  The first time we kiss again since the mission it feels as if we've reversed roles. Me, somehow knowing where I stand. But deeply wondering about Peeta's feelings. If he's finally coming back to me.

Peeta's holding me after wiping away my many tears. He'd had a flashback just earlier that evening, flailing about in his own version of my nightmares. I'm surprised to see how lucid and calm he is right now. His embrace is strong and welcoming. Protecting me like nobody else's arms ever could. No other person understands the pain shooting through my body. Prim and Rue. Playing catch. Running. Then running faster. And screaming. Spears and fireballs coming alive in their pursuit.

"You'll be all right," he whispers in my ear. The sound of his words is reassuring and I believe him for a moment. Then my brain fights it. It tells me these memories will never rest. Peace is unreachable and Peeta's wrong. We can't be okay when we're haunted night and day by death and the stench of roses and blood. How can he not see it?

"No, Peeta. It won't be all right," I tell him, my voice broken and distressed from the daily fight we withstand. From the sinking premonition that we might lose the final battle, regardless of it all.

"But aren't we all right? When I look at the big scheme of things, I see we've come such a long way," argues Peeta. "Our lives will never be perfect, Katniss. They never were, after all. We were scarred even before the games, even before we had the actual scars become visible on our skins. This is how it works, and we learn to overcome obstacles and find meaning again. It won't be easy; nothing ever is."

I know he's right, but a feeling in the pit of my stomach begs to differ. The fear that there's no meaning left. That all that could be has already been taken away from us, forever. "How can you be so sure?" I ask him. "You and I. We've been ripped to shreds. I can't afford to let myself believe that things could be different only to lose it all again."

"But we don't have to lose it all again. We've won, Katniss. We're here and alive. I'd like to think that even the ones we lost have won through us. Our commitment to move on helps them live on, doesn't it?" He pauses, as if perusing his mind for a specific memory. "And remember Prim's locket? The one your mother found and sent it to you?" he asks me and I nod.

"Well, that's how I'm sure." He continues, "Once, when you were away at District 2, Prim came to visit me. The doctors didn't want me to see her, at first. They feared that, being so closely related to you, she could trigger my violent side. But she insisted and they let her in. I was still really bad back then, but I listened to her. At first, I kept repeating that you volunteered in her place for the games because you wanted all the glory. You had been training as a hunter. You wanted the opportunity to kill me and win."

"I didn't know that," I say, considering how twisted tracker jacker venom really is if it painted me as a career.

"It's really weird to think about it now. The venom made me irrational. You have to become a very deranged person to distort reality that way. Still, Prim argued it out with me. She didn't talk directly about you, because that would have been dangerous, but she helped me see things better."

"What kind of things?" I ask him.

"Things like the locket, but simpler. Less symbolic. She told me nothing's ever lost as long as you hold on to it. Everybody kept telling me what kind of person I used to be, but they didn't understand how they were just words in the head of a paranoid person. I didn't know who I could trust. Of course there was Delly, sometimes even Haymitch. But whenever they mentioned you, I'd kick and scream. Horrified that they could be such manipulated fools. Prim was different because she never told me who I used to be. Instead, she reminded me it didn't matter what people told me. I was the one that had to search myself, purge the venom from my mind by looking deeper. When I became hopeful that I could find out who I was on my own, things got better," he concludes. Peeta's eyes are tired, though they gleam from the reflection of the full moon, its light illuminating the room through the open window. I'm caught up on how silver the moonlight makes his lashes look, when he straightens his back on the mattress and brings my head to his chest. The shirt he's wearing is damp. Maybe from sweat, but most likely from the tears I shed as I woke up sobbing desperately.

We're silent for a long time. I consider his revelation about Prim, the way she gave him hope. I assume Peeta's tired and has fallen back asleep, but I keep my eyes open. Bothered by how none of this explains if we'll really be all right. While Prim's words ring true because I'll never let her go and her life continues within me, they stop making sense when I think about all that has changed. I am and will always be, inevitably, broken. As much as I try to put myself together, some pieces cannot be found. Buried along with those Snow and Coin destroyed along the way.

"You're still thinking about it," Peeta says. He wasn't asleep, after all. "Can't you just take what I say and accept it? It will be okay, Katniss. I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises that can't be kept," I counter.

"I believe they can. If they couldn't, you wouldn't be right here in my arms." He strokes my cheek and I lose myself in his touch for a second. Content that I am indeed in his arms. Only after, I consider what his words imply. I don't have to voice it, though, as the question is visible in my eyes, begging him to elaborate. He grimaces, almost as if upset I don't already know what it is. "I promised to keep you alive the day I threw you the bread, Katniss. My cowardice of not handing it to you consumed my days and nights. So I promised that, if need be, I'd do anything in my power to help you out, to keep you alive." He sighs and I realize this is something I already knew. Only, I had a hard time accepting it.

"When you volunteered for your sister, my heart sank. A million thoughts passed by me. I could find a way to sponsor you. I could even volunteer to replace whoever boy got reaped next. Then my name was called and I learned that sometimes you do get what you wish for. Now, don't get me wrong, it had tragedy written all over it. I could die, we could both die. Since my previous life hadn't been much, with happy moments limited to baking with my dad and watching you at school, I knew I had to face the alternatives fate had just presented me with. I could either live haunted by your death in the arena, or I could honour my earlier promise to keep you alive. You know which option I chose. And I stood by it every second. Even as the promise struggled with venom in a battle for my soul. I almost failed once, the attempt to strangle you." His voice catches and he stares at the ceiling for a long minute. Something else still hanging at the tip of his tongue. "But Prim was right. I held on to the promise and here we are. I'll keep it as long as I'm around."

Peeta Mellark. The boy with the bread. The yellow dandelion. Still holding on to a silent promise to help me survive at the cost of his own sanity or life. If there is such a thing as fate, it is cruel and it plays tricks on people. I remind myself that I once made a similar promise. I'd keep him alive, no matter the circumstances. I had my reasons, as impossible to decipher as they were. He also had his, I reckon. Love, he used to say. Though why he claims to continue to uphold this vow I'm not sure. So much has changed, I think again.

"You don't have to keep it anymore, Peeta. You don't owe..." I start to argue him out of it when his lips stop mine. Quiet. Soft. Warm. Moist. Steady. Familiar, yet new. Stirring up all the feelings I kept for too long. Letting me know there's no use disguising them with my stupid obsession with debt. The one kiss multiplies. My hands on the back of his neck. His on my back, securing me in place, even if he doesn't need to. I couldn't possibly run away from what I'm feeling in this exact moment. But in a split-second decision, I let go. My eyes examining his face. Contemplating what we were. Amazed by where we are.

"Finally. I thought you were never going to kiss me," I instinctively blurt out, clasping my hands against my mouth immediately after I say it. Too late to drown out the confession of my longing. Thinking out loud may just have been my awkward attempt to rationalize my feelings for Peeta. Discovering that the fear of never tasting his lips again had lied hidden deep inside my chest. I turn away from his eyes, so intimidating now that he's aware of my deepest wishes.

He kisses me gently on the corner of my mouth, his breath so warm against my skin. Then, close to my ear, he discloses the thought he's withheld from me all along. The one thing I realize can bring me back to life. "Patience, grasshopper," he says. "I've needed to kiss you so much, sometimes it hurt. But waiting was important if I wanted to savour every moment of falling in love with you again."

He comes back to me. His kisses intense and dedicated. The only way to prevent me from over thinking his words. Teaching me to surrender, something my survival instincts never let me comprehend. But I don't have to analyse it, because this is no surrender. It's sweet victory, every ounce of my being elated to just be. I am awake and alive. Peeta loves me again. I know we can survive despite the nightmares and flashbacks. The sensations running through my body are the only force left to contend with. Peeta loves me again, I tell myself. The poisoned shell has broken to reveal that, maybe, he never actually stopped loving me. And now, his lips have returned to mine. All my might and strength concentrated in ensuring they never leave me again.

"Katniss, I'm happy," he says. A blend of glee and resolution registered in his eyes as he strokes the hair falling on my forehead. I'm mad at him for breaking his grasp on me, though we had to come up for air at some point. Even if breathing seems like a waste of time. A more interesting activity requires my attention, paired with a most pleasant feeling I strongly hang on to. I pull him closer to me, eager to learn the meaning of his confession at a whole new level. I, too, want to savour every moment. So I tell him, "Me too," before resuming what we started. I'm not ready to let go.

Some kisses are gentle, others unrestrained. We discover each other's lips in a way we never did before. No arena, no cameras. Only Peeta and I in the comfort of his room and the safety only his love can bring.

We kiss for what it seems to be a lifetime, until we're both too tired to go on. We fall asleep slowly but in unison, and wake up the same way. Tangled and delighted to check in to reality.

"Good morning," Peeta whispers. Something close to euphoria registering in his face. Although I can't see myself in the mirror, I'm sure I'm carrying the same foolish expression. "Shhhh," I whisper back. I don't want the day to begin. Lying in bed with him after last night is all I need for today. No talking, no thinking. Just savouring.

"Katniss, we can't be in here forever. It's Tuesday," he reminds me, though he regrets it the moment he says it. "Okay. Ten more minutes. Then we have to get up. Dr. Aurelius worries if we don't report for our sessions in the mornings."

"I know, I know. He might get so concerned he'll have to come over here to check on us." I agree with Peeta, almost hating how sensible he is.

"Yes and we know how much trading the Capitol for District 12 might horrify that old man."

"Who knows?" I tease. "If Effie could do it, he can too." I think of the bubbly ways Effie had devised to deal with the poorest district and what likely made our tributes the most hopeless too. But Dr. Aurelius is not a buoyant person. Just an observing, serious man, that sometimes refers to District 12 as such a far away land that it might as well be in a different dimension.

"That's not funny, Katniss. I can hear the man flinching every time I mention what a hot summer it's been without air conditioning. He's a good man, but when you're born in the midst of Capitol luxury and privileges, it's hard to imagine a life without it. Look at yourself, for example."

"What about me? I don't care for luxuries!" I protest, ready to snap at Peeta for making such an absurd comparison.

"Yes, but you bragged so much about that lamb stew that even Greasy Sae imported the recipe." He grins at me. "It's okay. I can't live without hot chocolate and Haymitch will never let go of fancy liquor from the Capitol."

"Fine," I accept, mostly because arguing with Peeta is pointless. His words ten times more elaborate than any I could come up with.

"Good," he says. "Now would you please be quiet? I'm trying to spend our ten minutes before I have to talk to Dr. Aurelius without actually talking about Dr. Aurelius."

I shake my head at him. "But you were the one who started..."

"Shhhh." A playful Peeta brings his index finger to my lips, and with a smile hanging from his mouth he kisses me again to restore our quiet moment. "I'm trying to savour a few moments here."

  


_**THG is a T-rated series, so this fic also is T-rated and I've kept the storyline and language that way even as I write the next chapters. However, my idea of T-rated may not be exactly the same idea held by the administrators of this website. So even though I won't be dealing with anything explicit and only hint at things, I might change it to M to avoid a crack down. So M just to be safe, I think, and allow me a bit of flexibility with the plot. (Because if we just wanted a plain subtle hint at something, we'd be fine with just the one sentence Collins gave us, right? But since I'm reading in between the lines here I need to say a bit more. Just a bit.)**_ /N: Thank you again for the past reviews and please continue with them. Nothing makes me happier. I also wanted to let you guys know I sometimes make some graphics for this fanfiction for my tumblr if you want to see them. The one many of you mentioned of Peeta and Katniss in the woods for Chapter 13 is one of my favourites (odairling . tumblr . com)

So, this chapter lets you know where we are now and it brings me to the dilemma I've been facing. To change the rating of this fic from T to M or not?

THG is a T-rated series, so this fic also is T-rated and I've kept the storyline and language that way even as I write the next chapters. However, my idea of T-rated may not be exactly the same idea held by the administrators of this website. So even though I won't be dealing with anything explicit and only hint at things, I might change it to M to avoid a crack down. So M just to be safe, I think, and allow me a bit of flexibility with the plot. (Because if we just wanted a plain subtle hint at something, we'd be fine with just the one sentence Collins gave us, right? But since I'm reading in between the lines here I need to say a bit more. Just a bit.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Please leave a comment or review. Nothing makes me happier. I also wanted to let you guys know I sometimes make some graphics for this fanfiction for my tumblr if you want to see them (odairling . tumblr . com)


	21. Chapter 21

 

Chapter 21

Days go by faster. Not that they get any easier, because they're not meant to. Peeta says we're survivors and we'll continue to be so in our daily struggles. So the fight doesn't lessen. Nightmares and painful memories won't retreat just because we tell them to go away. In fact, some days they arrive with full force, armed with special weaponry made of crying children and splattered blood. Still, the clock has learned a new pace. Time isn't counted in minutes or hours, but locked lips and the gentle embrace that makes me stronger. Making up for time lost as we learned to heal. Finnick was right. It does take ten times as long to put yourself back together. If only I knew then how much soft kisses could speed up the process. So I tell the pain it can bring me its best. Peeta's warm body at night and bright smile in the mornings do their trick to pick me up if I do fall apart.

I hear strong winds outside, ripping the leaves off the trees before their time. The woods aren't even quite yellow yet, but autumn has announced itself, even if prematurely. I go to my house after hours of hunting, though I don't really know why I still call it mine besides the chores I do around it once a week. Buttercup is its only resident, and aside from the times he follows me to Peeta's in search of food, he barely leaves it. Prim's bedroom is his now and I don't dare trespass. In any case, I went over to clean up and secure the windows, which had been flapping away like a butterfly ever since dark clouds nested above the district. The bad weather upsets me, reminding me soon it will be too cold to continue the picnics I have come to love, sitting with Peeta by the lake. The only place I know we're safe from curious eyes. The only place where I let myself forget the suffering and appreciate the multiple hues of the sunset Peeta has finally figured out.

I lock the house behind me, my hunting bag in one hand and a few more pieces of clothing I've been heedlessly moving into Peeta's dresser since kissing became our favourite occupation. Then guilt catches up to me. Such a big space, lying mostly empty when there are new families arriving every day. Although Haymitch has decided I live at Peeta's now and won't look for me anywhere else, this is still officially my house. Maybe in the future I can give it away. Little plans I'm learning to make now that Peeta and I have grown closer, hoping they're more than wishful thinking.

I wave goodbye to the last of the primroses Peeta had planted in the spring and walk on the stones that pave the way to his house. He decided to paint it and had been scrambling to find the time to finish the job before it begins to rain again. Haymitch was supposed to help, but he spent more time holding a bottle than a brush, driving Peeta crazy along the way. I walk around the external walls and verify that Peeta finished the back this afternoon. I think of the smile he'll wear when he voices his accomplishment and it makes me wear one myself. The walls are as white as snow, but the wood trims carry a soft shade of orange. Just enough to remind me of the orange creamsicles Greasy Sae now serves as desserts at her food shop.

"Katniss, what do you think?" Peeta stops me as soon as I enter the kitchen. He's covered in white flour and I smell something good in the oven. His hands are stained black from the wood oven; somehow resembling the coal smudges on my father's clothes. The dirt doesn't stop Peeta from hugging me and touching my cheek as he brushes his lips against mine. The same thing my father did to my mother after a long day of work. It feels bittersweet and familiar. And I accept it as a blessing from the love and trust my parents shared.

"I think it looks great. I assume you did the trims yourself. It looks too well-done to have been Haymitch's work," I tell him, only to hear steps behind me.

"What a way to hurt a man's feelings, sweetheart." Haymitch walks over from the living room to make his presence known and informs Peeta that he needs a refill.

"Sorry, Haymitch," I say, though I had intended to reply something snappy back at him. I thought Peeta and I were alone, and a visitor wasn't exactly what I had in mind for tonight. Even if it's just Haymitch.

"Not a problem. It just hurts to hear the truth after the big-shot painter over here decided to re-do the wall I had been working on. What can I say? I warned you. I don't paint, I drink." He guzzles down the contents of his glass, only to scowl when Peeta shakes his head at him and takes the empty bottle away from his hands.

"No more, Haymitch. Our deal, remember? Besides, you don't want a hangover tomorrow," Peeta points out while he checks the oven for what I now realize looks like quiche.

"What's tomorrow?" I ask.

"Nothing." Haymitch interjects and frowns even harder when Peeta looks in his direction. "How about some discretion, baker boy?"

"Sorry. You just don't want a hangover. Period." He corrects himself and winks at me as soon as Haymitch turns away to look for hidden liquor. The wink is Peeta's code for telling me this is probably Effie related and no words should be exchanged if one is to avoid Haymitch's rage.

"Peeta, my boy, are you burying the bottles now? I could swear you had more," Haymitch mumbles, clearly disappointed. "What time is it? I think Sae's shop is still open. Time for an emergency purchase." He runs out the door to prevent either of us from stopping him, but not before he looks from Peeta to me and lets a crooked smirk escape from his mouth. The kind of grin only Haymitch can carry and that subtly informs us that  _he knows_.

With the front door closed and carefully checked to keep us locked inside, Peeta removes the quiche from the oven, washes his hands and meets me in the living room. I find his lips before we sit down to let him know I missed him during the day. Conveying every thought I had of him as soon as I kissed him goodbye in the morning. I can't quite describe it, but his kisses have become my addiction. Unlike the times before, when I under appreciated them for fear of cameras and the Capitol, I can now enjoy them fully. I can wrap myself around Peeta and allow him to drown me in kisses while I eagerly hold on to them. Afraid that each could be the last one.

"Are you hungry?" he asks me, trying to disguise his shortness of breath. I tell him I am hungry, though I don't think he knows quiche isn't exactly what I'm craving. He lets go of me to get the dining table ready, and I follow him seconds later. Suddenly taken by the strange sensation of watching a piece of me leave the room with him.

I place the plates, glasses and the cutlery on the table linen he just set and wait for the quiche.

"It's bacon and asparagus," he says proudly. "My dad never attempted quiche, even though he wanted to. But my mother would always stop him by arguing that the eggs would be better spent on cake or bread. I've been meaning to try it since we saw the recipe on TV last week."

"It smells delicious. I bet it tastes the same," I compliment him, knowing how important baking is for Peeta. I don't even have to try hard to say good things about his food. He usually comes through with flavours I had no idea were possible and his pastries beat any we ever ate at the training centre.

"I hope so," he tells me and hands me back my plate with a slice of the quiche. As expected, the bacon does wonderful things to it.

I am barely done chewing when I exclaim, "Oh my, Peeta. This is great! But what am I saying? You never make mistakes when it comes to baking."

He smiles, though I can see he's pensive. He scratches his temples for a good minute before he says something again. "Well, I used to burn bread a lot."

The bread. The first time Peeta kept me alive. "I only know about that one time," I tell him shyly. "I'm sorry your mother hit you for it."

"It's okay," he says. "It wasn't the first time I took a beating for burning bread. And after what happened that day, it definitely wasn't the last."

I'm surprised and troubled by what Peeta may be insinuating, but I probe him to make sure. "What do you mean by after what happened?"

"I knew what was happening, Katniss. Ever since the mine explosion. You became thinner, and even your sister seemed quieter and weaker when you walked home from school. Before that day, I had tried to sneak in some of my breakfast toast for you. But I never had the courage to approach you during classes. And after them, you were always the first one to walk out and all I could do was watch you leave. Then I saw you through the window. I couldn't stand it anymore. I didn't even think twice about it," he admits.

"You burnt the bread knowing your mother would hit you for it," I finish his sentence.

"Yes. But apparently, all the guts it took me to burn them immediately vanished when I went outside. I had to toss them to you."

"I told you that's okay, Peeta."

"I know. But I still burned some bread every now and then. Carefully timing it so they were still good enough inside, just in case I could use them for you. Though you never needed them. Months later you were hunting. And then I could see you and Gale trading in town. That's when I graduated as a baker. She never hit me again."

I'm considering Peeta's words. The extent of his love for me never ceases to surprise me. He eats his piece of quiche in silence, fixated on his plate and a scar on his hand. I want to thank him. Not because I owe him or anything I've told myself over the years. But on account of the way he makes me feel. Loved. Protected. Safe. The Katniss Everdeen who had to sacrifice herself to get food and keep her family alive needs to be no longer. She can finally understand the purity and beauty of being cared for with no expectations in return. Not like a hunter's agreement to take care of each other's family if bad days came. Not a spoken deal. Simply Peeta's genuine wish to guard me because he loved me. And, as I recently confirmed, still does.

I swallow the cold water in my glass in one sip, in a rush to finish dinner to return to our previous activity. Peeta hasn't finished yet, but he seems to hurry up when he notices my unconscious tapping of my fingers on the table. Anxious, but not too anxious not to voice my intentions. I let him take his last bite and ask him, "Do you want to go upstairs?"

"I'm not really sleepy, though," he says nonchalantly. Completely unaware of my true invitation. I consider him for a moment. His blonde hair falls over his face, covering the burn mark around his eyebrow, and his eyelashes glimmer in the light of the candleholder sitting on the table. He's wearing a blue button down shirt, short-sleeved and still slightly smudged with flour. His khaki pants are longer than they should be, even though he's been meaning to hem them for weeks now. Other than that, he's in his bare feet, like me. A habit we've developed when trying to avoid bringing dirt into the house after working in our herb garden. Although it's been a cool day, Peeta's face is shiny from the heat in the kitchen. So are his hands, which I take into mine before repeating my request.

"Let's go, anyway," I tell him, a lump forming in my throat. Suddenly, I'm thirsty again and pour myself another glass of water before leading Peeta up the stairway. He follows me quietly, supposedly studying my face. This time, he's the one looking for clues. He doesn't have to wait long to find out, for when he closes the door behind us, I press him against it and wrap my arms around his neck. Safe at last.

"What's going on, Katniss?" he looks down at me and asks with a concerned expression on his face.

"Nothing, I told you. I just really missed you today," I say. I can see my warm breath almost visible on his torso while I twirl my fingers in the hair on the back of his head.

He arches one of his eyebrows and sizes me up. Wondering if I've been replaced with a more loving version of me. There's still a lot Peeta has to remember about my past and my actions, but he probably has the understanding of my personality down to a science. Already familiar with how I can go from unloving, defensive, untrusting, stubborn, broken, and selfish to logical, patient, playful, accepting, and even affectionate. But this really isn't quite like me. I thought I was strong, but the fire burning inside of me is overpowering. I hold him harder and he watches the self-reliant Katniss, the huntress who keeps her guard up, make an exit to give room to the, even if temporarily, new me. Clingier and desperate for his touch. What I'm feeling isn't just passionate. It's ardent and it tells me that if I let go, I might just die.

"Well, I missed you too. But when winter comes, you won't have to hunt. We can spend more time together then. There won't be much to do, but we'll get by," he tells me, circling his fingers on the small of my back. At one point, my shirt lifts up a bit, partly exposing my skin. Peeta quickly removes his hands from me, afraid he did something to upset me. It's when I press harder and kiss him with all my might. I'm no good with words. So I resort to little acts to show him that, actually, there could be much to do come wintertime.

I think at a certain point I carelessly bite his lip and Peeta pulls away, bringing his hand to his mouth to check if he's bleeding. I meant for it to be playful, but I'm obviously not very good at it.

"Calm down, Katniss. I'm not going anywhere," he tells me, and readjusts himself against the door. He can't be very comfortable there, but somehow standing in front of him like this is reassuring. Even if he wanted to go, I wouldn't let him. I can't afford to lose him too. I nest my head on his shoulder and tell him, "Yes, you should stay right here."

"Something's on your mind," he says. "I can tell. Do you want to talk to me about it?"

"No, I don't want to talk," I mutter.

"Are you sure? It might help." He's taken his fingers to my hair and slowly undoes my braid. This has to be one of his favourite things. A privilege of his own. Something he does when it's just the two of us. He runs his fingers through where the braid was once more, freeing the remaining strands of hair. As he lets my hair down, my last defences come crashing with it.

"No, Peeta. Talking won't help," I say, putting on my face of determination and conviction.

"So what will?" He asks and I reckon I have to be clearer than this. His eyes convey worry. Peeta fears I may break down at any moment and he wants to know how to stop it. I pull apart from him by an inch and bring both my hands to his shirt collar. I find the first button and undo it. Then the second one. Then the third one. I stop and look at Peeta. Expecting him to say something. But he doesn't. He's seemingly speechless. Completely tongue-tied. I grin at the sight in front of me, registering a dose of satisfaction for succeeding in leaving Peeta Mellark at a loss for words. I take his arms and let them wrap around me again. Finally, he seems to find his voice. "Katniss..." he whispers. It sounds like a mixture of warning and pining.

I look out the windows to watch the late summer sun set amidst the clouds. Its faint sunlight the only thing illuminating the room and my body next to Peeta's. A year ago I sat in District 13 wondering if I'd ever see him again. Broken and heartbroken. Never imagining that we'd be here and now, let alone that I could ever feel everything I'm feeling again.

So in this split second,  _on the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway._ I trace my fingers down his collarbone, only to repeat the same trajectory with my lips. I make it to the edge of his shirt, and gently pull on it until I get Peeta's attention. He kisses me once more and then removes his lips from mine, asking me a question with his eyes. Almost as if looking for confirmation. Then, to avoid any confusion, I kiss him again only to whisper in his ear, "It's the only thing I'm certain I want." Removing his shirt and giving him a reassuring nod before pulling his body to bed with me.

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A/N: Reviews make a girl happy :) I'm dying to hear your opinions about this chapter.

Like I mentioned before, I'm trying to work on something Peeta's POV related. Most likely one of these last three chapters (20,21,22 - not sure which yet). If you think you might be interested in reading it, please let me know. And if you are, please add me to author alerts.


	22. Chapter 22

 

Chapter 22

We lie quietly in bed, under the covers that hide us from the world. Exposed underneath them, but only to ourselves. A privilege we gifted each other as our skins touched amidst sweat and elation. Our bodies and souls like magnets, oppositely connected. I thought Peeta may have fallen asleep, but the movement of his hand as it strokes my hair lets me know otherwise. His eyes are still closed, while I watch the small curve on the corner of his mouth. A lot subtler than the smile I'm wearing. Timidly thinking about how he catered to my hunger. How his warm body entwined in mine tells me it won't be long until I'm famished again.

I can't help but think about how far we've come. Loaves of bread were tossed. Names picked from a bowl on reaping day. The way his voice cought when he confessed his feelings to Caesar Flickerman. The rush I felt when I realized that not only Peeta was trying to protect me from the careers, but a rule change could take us home together. Our kisses in the cave. The first one that made me want more. Rebellion in the form of small berries in our hands. Confusion and distance. His trust despite my actions. Desperation from another reaping. His arms around me on the train. Little knots in my hair as we shut ourselves from the world on the rooftop. Promises and yearning on the beach. Then life turned inside out from feeling his hate instead of love. A new understanding of what we were paired with bitterness, fear, and a faint glimmer of hope that we could be once again. War, pain, bombs. Fire mutts made of patchwork. Our lives inevitably compromised, even as he saved me once again. Finally, a sensation that grows along with our old skin, which fights through the burn patches only to accept that the scars are here to stay. Though it doesn't mean they're all we have. There's more to life than pain and nightmares, I discover, by giving Peeta all of me.

I understand now what he said to me before our second games. He chose a different time for his request, faced with the possibility of losing each other one more time. But not me. Unknowingly, I saved my wish for later. If I could freeze one moment and live in it forever, I'd choose this one. Vulnerable, yet never stronger. Lying next to him, whose arms are the only ones that could ever make me feel this safe.

I think this is what could be described as perfect. Except I deny myself such a thought. It'd feel like overbearing indulgence next to my frame of mind, now always more fragile than before that hot reaping day. Because although I feel protected, I also feel more scared than I've been in a long time. If, before, the possibility of Peeta's death could have damaged me beyond repair, the very thought of him walking away could lead me to the edge of sanity. I take a deep breath to remember that the games are over. Snow is gone forever and he can't take Peeta away from me. At least not again. Not even Coin can pit us against each other. But logic and rational arguments can't stop my heart from sinking to the pit of my stomach. Whatever I'm feeling is stronger than me. This quiet agony that lets me know we are now inseparable. I need him and he needs me. I am his, and he is mine. If Peeta were to die and leave me alone in this world, I'd meet him at midnight in the hanging tree. We'd be side by side as I've now decided we should be.

Peeta turns to me and awakes me from my morbid thoughts. My fear of losing him getting the best of me. He gives me a long kiss and I gladly surrender my defences to him once again, until he stops to trace the scars on my arm with his fingers. He runs through them like a winding road and resumes his kissing shortly after. He's speechless, like before. Though I don't dare say a word, either. Terrified I could ruin this moment, the one I chose for our peek into infinity. So I rest my head on his arm, and we watch ourselves in each other's eyes. It's dark, but even with the curtains Peeta remembered to pull shut, I can still see how blue his eyes really are. In the dusk of his bedroom, they look navy blue, like the water that glistened in the moonlight by our beach in the arena. I could swear it even shines likes the waves that moved rhythmically towards the sand. I'm fascinated by the complexity of his irises; something I've paid more attention to ever since I learned to fear dilated pupils and clutched hands on his behalf. Knowing Peeta has a better grip of reality is rewarding in a strange way. As if his journey back to himself is also a journey back to me. I truly belong to his reality now, as he belongs to mine.

I lean in closer again and Peeta kisses my forehead, not before he touches the same spot where my wound set, dripping blood in the cave as I fought through light-headedness and the desire to keep his lips on mine. It's been only two years, but it was enough time for me to die and come back to life on multiple occasions. Every time, a little different. Transformed. Growing into something the sixteen-year-old me could have never envisioned. Learning that I don't always have to do things on my own and put on a permanent scowl to evade the outside world that had hurt me so much. Help is okay. The twisted lesson from the games that has become some sort of blessing. You make allies, sometimes you make friends. Some of them take you by surprise when they change into nothing less than family. And then there's Peeta, who's fought his way in through my hard exterior to take refuge in my mind as ally, friend, and family. More than all of that, really.

The truth is I can't survive on my own. Mockingjays need their wings, and I need the certainty that life isn't lost. Something to help me to keep fighting. Something bigger than the bow and arrows my father left me. I wince at the realization that my fear of losing everything is justified by the conviction that being left alone would make me fade away. I'd lose myself too. Wasn't that the case years ago when we slowly disappeared from starvation? If it wasn't for Prim, I could have given up. I could have let myself slip just like I tried to at the training centre, unaware of my trial and how Haymitch made arrangements to bring me back home.

My flinching brings Peeta back to wherever his mind had wandered as he drew awkward circles on my thigh with the tips of his fingers. Causing goose bumps all over my body.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to..." he says, finally finding his voice again.

"What are you apologizing for?" I ask.

"I don't know. I'm still trying to tell whether I'm really here," he confesses. His blue eyes size me up and touches my cheek, almost as if it check whether I'm here or if it's just an apparition.

I place my hand on top of his and then bring it to my mouth, kissing each one of his fingers before I place a peck on the corner of his mouth. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm here. See?" I say and pretend to pinch him.

"Yes, you are," he mutters, eventually convinced that this is no delusion created by his haunted mind. The venom isn't tricking him this time. And really, how could it? Everything we just went through being so new and so unexpected. Yet, the only logical progression given what I feel for Peeta.

"Katniss..." he whispers when I lodge my head on his bare chest, suddenly wishing to draw clumsy circles on his skin too.

"Yes?" I look up, a faint smile on my face.

"Nothing," he shakes his head on the pillow and seemingly loses his ability to speak again. Silently watching the ceiling, even though there's nothing to see in the blunt darkness but the outline of our faces and bodies. He wraps both of his arms around me again. His firm grip lets me know my fear of losing him is not unlike his own fear of watching me slip away. Like the many times before we searched for each other in the night and found nothing but emptiness.

Why do we have to go through so much pain, to lose each other and to lose ourselves, to finally be able to see what matters most? Life is a tricky game, not unlike the fight to the death in the arenas where we used to seek each other. I struggle trying to understand, why me? Why us? What is it that makes us the chosen ones that get to live on while everybody else perished? My sweet Prim, who never hurt anyone. Finnick, who will never meet his baby boy. Boggs and Cinna, friends I found in distress and lost under not much different circumstances. Little Rue, who gave mockingjays a song to sign and, in a similar way, helped me become the person I had to be to give her death meaning. Even my father, who inadvertently earned me a medal for his death. The Capitol's twisted way of rewarding tragedy. Only send bombs after us. Wiping Peeta's family away in the process. Killing the sweet man who thought of giving me cookies, even as I marched to my death alongside his son. No. Who gets to decide that they go and we have to stay?

I'm troubled by my mix of emotions, especially as a stubborn tear slides from my eye into Peeta's chest. He brings his hand to my face, checking if I really am crying. It's when the floodgates open. His eyes widen, now really worried that something's wrong. Always careful and concerned with my well-being, even in the way he made me his. I don't want him to think any of this is his fault, since this is only me bringing every feeling to the surface tonight. I lift myself up until my face is directly above his. He looks at me, observant, as one more tear falls down. He wipes it off while holding my gaze, seemingly trying to read my deepest thoughts. Without saying a word, he tells me it will be all right. That whatever enemy I'm fighting, whatever's stabbing my heart this time, will go away come morning light. He brings me down for a kiss and comforts me in the way only Peeta knows how. Every worry, every thought of injustice is lifted from my shoulders and my mind. Replaced with the sinking knowledge that the truth is that nobody gets to decide who stays and who goes. We just don't get to choose. But that doesn't change the fact that we are the ones who did stay. Our burden at times larger than that carried by those who are gone forever. Because we are left with the memories and the moments we'll never get back. All we can do is try to survive. We try to keep going. And in that way, we honour our losses. We do. We. Together.

And this is when it hits me. My moment of reckoning found in between Peeta's lips. The one it took me two years to understand. The one he's waited for since he was five years old. The understanding that though I can be strong on my own, I can be better and get better by his side.That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that.

I kiss him once more, hoping to convey my wish to move on by his side. To make it count and wait for better days. With no more confusion, no more riddles. Lovers, at last. No longer star-crossed, I'm happy to finally recognize.

So after, when he whispers, "You love me. Real or not real?"

I tell him, "Real."

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A/N: Well, this is it. I hope you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. I will be back with more Everlark stories and I'm planning something special for the epilogue in July. If you're interested in keeping up with them, all you have to do is add me to your author alerts.

Thank you for your amazing reviews throughout this journey. They were very helpful, and even one line was enough to make me smile.

Reminder that I changed the rating to M just to allow me some more flexibility with Katniss' "thoughts," but I tried to keep the actual rating as close to something that could have been in the book as possible.


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